


Stiles Wears the Pants in This Pack

by TheDreadedSneeb



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Stiles, M/M, POV Multiple, Pack Dynamics, after season 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2019-06-22 14:41:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 39
Words: 95,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15584142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDreadedSneeb/pseuds/TheDreadedSneeb
Summary: This is basically a rewrite of Teen Wolf after Season 2.  Lots of wish fulfillment.  I kept a lot of season 3b because I really liked that one, but yeah... Stiles is an awkward badass, Scott is a good friend and person all around, Peter is creepy but helpful, and Derek is not a natural at leading but he really cares about his pack.  The rape/non-con thing isn't graphic, just mentioned.





	1. Stiles

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn't going for realism with this, I've never been in a romantic relationship, and this is unbetaed. So, be prepared for that. Also, I focus on weird stuff when I write because I tend to be less interested in the actual plot than in what's going on in the background. If it's hard to follow, I apologize. My best suggestion would be to fill in any blank spots with whatever happened in canon or as close as you can get with the changes I made prior to said blank spot. And fair warning, I am almost 100% a pants-er. It shows. Endings are not my strong suit.
> 
> I'd like to be clear that an adult having sex with someone who is underage is always rape because children can't give consent. That's not what the rape/non-con tag is for in this case, but it is the truth. I do not in any way condone it in real life.

Scott telling Derek that he wasn't his alpha hadn't seemed like that big a deal to Stiles at the time. Yeah, Derek had looked ridiculous amounts of upset. Yeah, Scott had hatched his entire Gerard double-cross without even bothering to let Stiles in on the plan, and that was shit, man. Because Scott was his best friend, and Stiles would always, always have his back. And Scott should know that, okay? Even when he's being an idiot or staring at Allison like she was all the badassness of Katniss Everdeen and Hermione Grainger rolled up into one and dipped in chocolate.

Stiles may have suggested they take down Gerard without screwing Derek over so hard, but Scott's plan was actually a good plan. Pretend to be on Gerard's side while slipping him mountain ash in his cancer pills so that he'd reject the bite? Excellent. Brilliant. That was thinking. That was real planning. Long term. Sneaky. When you didn't have the muscle to defeat someone, you used your brains. Screw anyone who said Scott didn't have a brain. Yeah, he didn't do so great in school. Maybe he was kind of naive and looked at the world through rose-colored Allison-tinted lenses, and he always thought people were nicer than they actually were, but that didn't mean he was dumb.

Scott was, however, hella stubborn. When he decided something like 'no, he was not going to be in Derek's pack,' and 'yes, he was going to continue macking on Allison behind her father's back,' well, that's what he was going to do. And no amount of Derek pointing out that omegas were considered unstable and got picked off by hunters as soon as they were discovered or that as a born wolf who'd been doing this for years, he knew a lot of information and tricks for maintaining control and not almost ripping people's chests open every time he and Allison were off-again was going to convince Scott otherwise, and Stiles knew Alli was his anchor or whatever, but dude, he needed an anchor that couldn't break up with him, or someone, probably Stiles, who was the person consoling him, was going to get maimed.

The point was, you didn't push Scott into things he didn't want to do. 

In fact, pushing the issue was only going to make him dig in his heels.  
Sending your douchy, power-tripping betas to dog his footsteps, pun intended because if they were going to make his and Scott's lives harder, Stiles was going to make all the dog jokes he wanted, was not going to make him any less intransigent. And yes, Stiles was going to use words like intransigent because it was a good word, damn it, and he was getting ready for the SATs, and the best way to remember a word and what it meant was to use it in context. Not that Stiles wouldn't remember anyway. Because this mind? This mind was a steel trap, and nothing escaped once its teeth had snapped shut. 

But no one listened to Stiles. And by one, he meant Derek. No Derek listened when Stiles tracked him down to the honest-to-god train station he was using as a lair like a fucking creeper who creeps, and seriously? He was supposed to have legal custody of Isaac, wasn't he? Why wasn't social services or CPS all up in his shit? Was no one checking in? Because Stiles was pretty sure they were supposed to do that, and a half-finished, mostly-trashed subway station with a few cars crammed inside was not suitable living conditions. And there was no excuse for it, because Derek had to be loaded. Stiles had looked it up, okay? Derek, Laura, and Peter had gotten an ass-ton of money from life insurance and inheritance and shit after the Hale house fire. The guy drove a camero. He could afford a little black sports car to zip around in like the douchenozzle he was but he couldn't rent a two bedroom apartment with heat and AC and running water and wifi? What was that about?

But Stiles had tracked him down because Stiles was a good friend, okay? Scott was getting mad, and the betas were being assholes, which in Erica's case, involved boobs getting shoved uncomfortably close to people like she had something to prove, and that alone was causing a lot of the off-again periods in Scott and Allison's relationship. Not the best way to get a person to like you. Destroying their love life. But hey, who was Stiles to tell a pack of werewolves what to do? It wasn't like he'd ever persuaded Scotty to be his friend. Though, to be fair, he'd done it when they were three by showing him how to make mud by dumping his juice in the sandbox.

The rest of the off-agains were motivated by guilt, Stiles was pretty sure. Allison was coping with her mom's death, thankfully in a way that involved a lot less blood and arrows and terrifying ring daggers than before, but it wasn't easy. She didn't confide in Stiles because they weren't that close, although he'd lost his mom too, but he could see that it was hurting her and she was struggling. So, he did his best to lighten her mood when he saw her and to remind Scott that maybe her anger and distantness wasn't all because of what she said it was and that sometimes a little space and some good old-fashioned understanding and forgiveness when she got over it a few days later was better than being pissy and distant in return. 

And Scott, bless his enormous heart, was the most forgiving and understanding person Stiles had ever met. Seriously. Stiles had not  
handled his mother's illness and death as well as he'd pretended in front of his dad, not that he'd pretended all that well, and Scott had caught the brunt of it and hadn't abandoned him. He'd hugged Stiles for hours while he sobbed because she couldn't remember him. Not his name, not that he was her son. He had been there to see Stiles breaking down after Mom had attacked him and screamed that he was trying to kill her. His own mother had looked at him like he was nothing to her, and then like he was something horrible and evil, and ten-year-old Stiles did not know how to deal with that. And sometimes that had translated to him being a serious dick to the people around him, which were his dad and Scott. But they'd both forgiven him. Scott knew that when Stiles had been lashing out, it wasn't because he hated Scott or even that he really wanted to hurt him, not deep down. It was because Stiles had been hurting, and his dad had been hurting, and Stiles hadn't known what to do or how to stop.

So, he knew Scott could handle this... mess. He knew he and Allison could get through the grieving process and go back to staring into one  
anothers eyes like ooey-gooey piles of love mush all the time instead of just whenever they weren't fighting. And that would happen a lot faster if stupid Derek would just call off his hounds and show Scott that he could take no for an answer.

Because Stiles really did think Scott should join the pack. 

Okay, Derek was not a good leader. He was not. The guy had no idea how to get people to follow him or obey him other than baring his fangs and flashing his shiny red eyes and declaring that He Was The Alpha. Or withholding information and then breaking their bones. Seriously, not  
good leadership skills. Stiles may or may not have a stack of books on being a good leader sitting in his room. He'd even borrowed the ones from the military leadership courses Dad had taken when he was enlisted in case Derek wanted to stick to the whole 'training them to be his personal fur-faced army' thing. He just hadn't figured out how to give said books to the Sourwolf without getting them thrown back in his face. Which would undoubtedly involve broken noses and trips to the hospital. And he liked his nose, okay? It was his mom's nose. And he didn't think he was one of those guys who could pull off the crooked nose thing. Maybe Scott could. Might offset his crooked jaw? But Stiles could not. Stiles had delicate features, and crooked noses were not going to make them any more appealing to the ladies. 

Or the guys. Because, yeah, he was pretty sure that was a thing for him now, and maybe had been all along because now that he thought about it, he'd spent a lot of time telling his mom how pretty the girl in his class's older brother was and how he liked to watch him play kickball at recess and wanted to see if maybe he would like to share Stiles' fruit snacks at lunch. Anyway, Stiles was protecting his nose, and so the books were gathering dust in his room while he considered mailing them to Derek anonymously, and how you made that work when the guy didn't have a mailbox. Maybe FedEx or Amazon delivered to abandoned train stations even if the post office wouldn't.

But poor leadership skills aside, or non-existent leadership skills, depending on how charitable Stiles was feeling, Derek really just wanted to keep his pack safe. Deep down, that was what he wanted, and Stiles knew it. Derek just didn't know how to do that without being a colossal asshole. With a little help and guidance, and maybe some serious therapy and some kind of wolfy chill pills, he could get there. 

Unfortunately, the only person Stiles could think of with any kind of wolf-leading knowledge was Peter. Psychotic, newly-ressurected Peter, who, for all that he was a horrible, horrible person, had a good brain in his noodle, a boatload of charisma, and a certain amount of ruthlessness that Stiles hated to admit would probably go a long way towards keeping the pack alive and safe when they were faced with hunters and whatever other dangerous magical critters were lurking in the shadows, waiting to chew their faces off. If only he were sane, Stiles would have gone to him in a heartbeat to help convince Derek to chill out, learn to be nice sometimes, and to leave Scott the fuck alone.

Because that was the thing. Scott was just balking right now. He'd had his choice to be a werewolf or not made for him when Peter bit him, and then Derek had stormed in, demanding that Scott follow his every command without ever establishing why he deserved it. And that did not work for Scott. But Peter had been charging around like the murderous freak he was, and Scott had three choices: team up with the jerky guy who knows a little bit of something, murder all his friends and join Peter's pack, or get his head ripped off. So, he'd gone with Derek as the least of three evils. Then Derek had killed Peter while Scott begged him not to so that Scott could maybe make a choice for himself about whether or not he was a werewolf. Not that Stiles was convinced Scott killing Peter would have changed him back human, but you never knew, and anyway it didn't matter. What mattered was that Derek had taken the option away from him. 

And then while Scott was still pissed and reeling from that, Derek went and bit Jackson. Jackson of all people. Who had more emotional issues than everyone else in Beacon Hills combined, and that included Stiles, Peter, and Derek himself. And of course, that went about as wrong as it  
possibly could, and Allison's genocidal grandfather had come to town and decided to make it his personal mission to destroy Stiles' faith in humanity and to twist Allison into his werewolf-killing aunt-mimicking puppet while her mother cheered him on and her father searched desperately for his balls. Not to mention the whole genocidal thing. And Derek had come to Scott again and said 'join my little fun squad. There's safety in numbers and look, I turned three quiet, generally not unpleasant human beings into to most colossal dickbags to ever walk the face of the planet. Don't you want to be just like them?' And Scott had said yes because again, he didn't have much of a choice. Die for sure, or maybe die but maybe not because there was at least someone fighting next to you?

So really, it wasn't actually that surprising that Scott had schemed behind Derek's back and then kicked him to the curb as soon as he and Alli were in the clear. When had Derek ever done something to deserve more? Well, he had saved Scott's life at the rave and a few other times, but that wasn't the point. The point was that Derek hadn't earned Scott's loyalty and trust yet. He was demanding it. And that was going about it exactly the wrong way.

See, Stiles was pretty sure that Scott liked the idea of a pack. He liked people. He liked friends and being part of a group, part of something bigger than himself. He would like to have someone who knew something to tell him what was going on when he did weird thing by accident or when he had urges he didn't understand. He just didn't want an oppressive, heavy-handed alpha who expected him to bow down and kiss their boots whenever they talked and to follow orders without question. And that's pretty much how Derek was coming across.

Stiles hadn't said that when he'd gone to the train station. He didn't need another concussion, okay? One was enough, and he'd smelled like garbage for like a week. But that wasn't the point. He'd let that go, mostly, in favor of trying to help Scott and Derek, because he was pretty sure Scott and his general good nature and the fact that he had natural leadership qualities would actually be a good influence on Derek in that Derek could see him getting people to do stuff for him without threatening them with bodily harm or clobbering them with a massive sense of entitlement. And Derek could teach Scott how to not draw targets on his own head.

When Derek had slunk out of the train car to glare at Stiles, and Isaac had stopped looming like a cheap dime-store hood and put away his claws, Stiles had reminded Derek that he knew Scott better than anyone and that badgering him wasn't going to work. If Derek really wanted him in his leather gang, the best thing he could do was back off and wait for Scott to come to him. Sending Isaac and Boyd to torture him at lacrosse practice wasn't helping Scott succeed as co-captain, and that was important to him. Sending Erica to mash her admittedly impressive rack in his face and try to lick his neck was just causing problems in his relationship with the girlfriend he already had, another thing that was extremely important to him. Messing with the things Scott cared about in order to get him to take the blood oath, skin a cow, and hammer studs into his very own leather jacket or whatever the rite of initiation entailed, was not the way to go. You had to show Scott you respected him, and he would respect you back.

Derek, of course, hadn't listened. He'd scrunched up his stupidly perfect face and said something about Stiles being mad that he'd lost first string to Boyd and about being jealous that Erica's boobs weren't in his face. Stiles had pointed out that he'd only joined lacrosse to support Scott, and he didn't give a crap if he played or not because he kind of sucked at it and it was way more fun to sit on the bench and scream at the players and cheer for Scott, and the only reason he'd made first line to begin with was because some of the guys who usually played had been put on acedemic suspension because their grades had dropped too low. Also, Erica's boobs were a lot less fun to stare at up close when you knew there was a distinct possibility that a car part was going to cave in your skull at any second. 

Derek had had the good grace to look slightly embarrassed at that, but he didn't apologize. Instead, he said something about Jackson and Lydia joining the pack meaning it was only a matter of time before Scott followed suit, and how Scott should know by now that being a werewolf on its own was just asking for a wolfsbane bullet in his chest. Stiles hadn't had anything to say about the Jackson and Lydia thing, but he had pointed out that being in a pack didn't seem to stop the bullets from flying at Derek and his betas. Derek hadn't liked that, but he had managed to blame it on something other than himself. Typical.

Stiles was surprised that Jackson and Lydia would join up. One, they weren't into leather jackets, and two, neither of them took orders. From anyone. Well, from anyone who wasn't Lydia. Also, last he'd heard, Mr. Whittemore was talking about sending Jackson to boarding school in Europe. Maybe that wasn't happening? It was only a rumor. But if Jackson left, there was no reason for Lydia to join. She'd never turned into a werewolf, which, what the hell? How in hell was that even possible? And unlike Stiles, who was in this thing for Scott, she didn't have any other friends in the pack. Unless you counted Allison, but Stiles didn't think Derek did since she'd tried to kill him and every single member of his pack just a few months ago. And also, her parents had tried to kill them and Scott, and her aunt had kind of already murdered almost all of his family. No, Allison wasn't part of the pack, even if she was joined to Scott at the tonsils. Which could be a problem later, but Stiles was going to deal with that one if and when it came up.

So, Stiles had ended up throwing one of the leadership books he'd bought, just one, he wasn't going to waste them all if Derek decided to  
shred them without even looking, at Derek's head and telling him to read the damned thing and leave Scott the hell alone or Stiles was pretty sure Isaac was going to end up with a restraining order and then Derek would lose custody and have CPS up his ass, and by the way, if he didn't move out of this mold-ridden cesspit before the next time Stiles came to tell him to fuck off and into a place with electricity, running water, and decent adherence to the health code, Stiles was going to make the call himself.

If he'd shouted that last bit as he drove off in Roscoe, well, no one needed to know, but when he'd tracked Derek down again after school let out for the summer, not for a chat, just because he kind of hadn't been kidding about their living conditions, he and Isaac had been living in a loft in the warehouse district. It was zoned for residence. Stiles had checked. He still kept the numbers for social services and CPS in his phone, though. Because you never knew.

There were fewer natural opportunities for Isaac, Erica, and Boyd to harass Scott with school not in session. They couldn't go to his house  
because Melissa had had Deaton put mountain ash in the doors and walls, and teach her how to use it. Also, even Derek seemed to have the good sense not to threaten Scott's mom. That left catching him while he was out with Allison, while he was at Stiles' house, or while he was on shift at the animal clinic, and they were finding opportunities and making them when they didn't present themselves.

Stiles had asked Deaton about mountain ash for his house, because his dad didn't know anything and Stiles really wanted him to have at  
least a little protection, but Deaton had gotten all evasive and unhelpful, and Stiles could hear the 'no' even when he wasn't saying it directly. Which,  
awesome. It was awesome to know where he fell on Deaton's priorities list. He didn't. Scott got the werewolfy powers and the ability to heal from nearly anything and mountain ash to protect his house, and Stiles got nothing to protect his skinny ass or his father. He'd collected a few handfuls of the powder from the ring he'd made at the rave, and it was in a jar in his nightstand, but that wasn't much. And googling how to get the stuff had proven oddly fruitless. It was like the supernatural world wanted him and his dad to die a horrible death. 

He'd considered asking Chris Argent, because come on, the guy was a hunter. He had to be willing to help a squishy human like Stiles protect his equally human father, but Argent was pissed at Scott for shoving his wolfy tongue down his daughter's throat, and that seemed to extend to him hating Stiles as well. And the guy had like a ton of guns, okay? Stiles was not going to get himself shot so soon after getting the crap kicked out of him by Gerard. Dad had freaked out enough over that, and Stiles was not going to die before him. He was not putting him through that. But that meant that until the internet got its head out of its ass and started spitting out real results or Stiles planted a god-damn ash grove in the back yard, their house was just not going to be protected.


	2. Stiles

The harassment went on for about a week after school was over, and Stiles continued to help Scott find sneaky ways to hook up with Alli and keep their relationship afloat. Stiles had just finished taking an obscenely long shower during which he may or may not have jerked off a couple of times, but hey, he was sixteen and his dad was working the overnight shift, when was a better time? And he had a serious amount of stress that needed to be let out. He was lazily pulling on his boxers when his phone rang, and he was considering letting it go to voicemail and let Scotty figure out how to rescue his own love life for like one night when he glanced at the screen and saw that it was Melissa calling. And shit, that was never good.

"Melissa?"

"Stiles, thank god, I thought you weren't going to answer."

"I just got out of the shower. What's up? You okay? Is Scott--"

"I'm fine, Stiles. Scott's fine too. Mostly. Just a few bruises and scratches, but they're healing already. Do you have any idea why he would be fighting a guy named Boyd? Because he broke both of his arms and his left kneecap and clawed the hell out of his shoulder, and Scott's not usually the violent type."

Ah, crap. Stiles knew something like this would happen. Hadn't Derek already made his point at that stupid ice rink show down? Scott could kick his betas' asses, which, if that was still true after all this training, what the hell was Derek teaching them to do? Frollick in the bullrushes?

Stiles sighed. "Yeah, I know what's going on. Just keep Boyd indoors until he's healed up enough to send him home. Maybe give him a clean shirt so he doesn't cause an uproar. He's one of Derek's betas. It shouldn't take very long. Maybe, make sure he and Scott don't talk to each other, or they'll probably end up fighting again."

"Is this going to be a regular thing?" she asked, "Is Derek going nuts like his uncle?"

"No, he's not nuts. It just takes a jack-hammer with a diamond tip to get through his thick skull. I'll take care of this. Keep Scotty at home, okay? Don't let him head over to give Derek a piece of his mind. It won't help. He wants Scott's attention. If he thinks he's getting it, he'll keep doing what he's doing."

"You make him sound like a bratty child." 

"Yeah, well, maybe I should read a parenting book instead of How to Train Your Puppy."

"You be careful, kiddo."

"Always am." And wasn't that a fucking lie?

Stiles sighed again when he hung up and shoved his legs back into his dirty blue jeans. There was no point in wasting time. If he was lucky, he'd make it there before Boyd did and have half a chance of getting Derek to listen to a word he said. He pulled on the first shirt he found, clean thankfully, and didn't bother with socks, just jammed his feet into his shoes. Which was super gross, but he was on a mission here. Socks were secondary. He'd told Melissa he would handle this, and that meant he was going to fucking handle it. Even if he had no idea how since all his previous attempts had failed. He grabbed another leadership book and his jar of mountain ash, just in case reactions to the fight were stronger than he expected, hopped in Roscoe, and headed over to the warehouse district to give himself another sore throat trying to talk sense into Derek.

Derek opened the door before Stiles could even knock and dragged him in by the front of the shirt, which was super not fair because  
Stiles was already kind of terrified for his life, okay? Not of Derek. Derek wasn't going to hurt him. He was a jackass, but he had some self-control. He might shove Stiles around a little and get up in his face and threaten to tear his throat out, but past precedent said that even when he was really pissed off, he didn't hurt Stiles. Not seriously. Isaac and Erica, though? They would hurt Stiles. They were angry, high on power, and out of control. So, he was a little bit scared, okay? The looming probability of imminent death, or at least dismemberment, could still make him feel scared even after the shit that had gone down in the last year. He just wasn't going to let a little thing like fear stop him. Because he'd fucking promised Melissa, and he was not going to let her down. 

But Derek manhandling him was unfair for a whole other reason, because he was like the hottest guy Stiles had ever met, and being manhandled by hot men was kind of a thing for Stiles. He was slim, okay? And he liked the idea of a big, strong guy kind of... tossing him around. And Derek was a werewolf. A seriously ripped werewolf with stubble and a leather jacket, and Stiles was secure enough to admit that he maybe had a type when it came to men and that was it. And he could only focus on suppressing one set of emotions here. It was either the paralyzing fear of death or his inappropriate boner. And he was now very, very glad that he'd jerked off in the shower, because he had to choose fear or he'd never get anything accomplished, and the only thing keeping him from popping wood was the fact that he'd just come like three times in the last hour. 

Isaac and Erica weren't in the loft, at least not that Stiles could see, which was good, because this conversation would go so much better if they weren't here to put in their two cents.

"Dude, you gotta make them back off," was what was coming out of Stiles' mouth instead of something about hot manhandling, thank fuck, "Seriously. He broke Boyd's arms and his leg. Scotty did, and he's like, the most longsuffering person I've ever met."

And yes, Stiles did just use longsuffering correctly in a sentence, thank you.

"He needs to stop being an idiot and join the pack," Derek said, letting go of Stiles' shirt. He was frowning, what a shock, but he didn't seem surprised or upset that Scott had kicked the crap out of Boyd. Maybe, that had been his plan? Or maybe, he didn't care.

"Yeah, I get that you think that," Stiles said, "but this method of changing his mind is not going to work."

"Neither is letting him do whatever he wants until he gets his head blown off by a hunter," Derek said.

Stiles took a deep breath and let it out slowly to keep himself from going off. "The longer you let this shit go on, the longer he's going to stiff-arm you. Will you please just trust me on this? I've known the guy since we were in preschool, and I've been getting him to do things my way since about two days after meeting him because that's how long it took me to realize that getting louder and louder and being more and more insistent that I get my way just made him pout and throw my applesauce on the ground."

"Stiles."

"I think he should join the pack too, okay? I think you're right. He can't take the hunters on his own. He needs someone stronger and more informed than me watching his back. Not that I won't be watching his back. I will be watching it. Like a hawk. Like a fucking eagle. Like an owl. Day and night. His back, my eyes. Watching. Because I am the world's best friend, and since I know he's not going to come down here and tell you what you need to do to make this right, I'm going to do it for him. Even though I would not heal if you decided to eviscerate me. I'm his friend, and as his friend who wants what's best for him and whose long-term goal happens to line up with yours, I think you should listen to me. I think that is a reasonable request. The friend of the person I want to be my friend is my friend and all that crap."

Derek looked irritated and frustrated, but not more than he usually did when Stiles was talking, so he was going to take that as a good sign. 

"If you think he should be in the pack, why don't you just convince him?" Derek asked. And Stiles had seen that coming from a mile away. Two miles. Maybe even three or four.

"Oh, my god. Will you use your brain? If I suddenly start saying that joining Sourwolf and the Skippito Friskitos is a great idea after being on his side in resisting, or at least keeping my opinion to myself, for the last however long, he's going to get suspicious. He'll think you threatened me or somehow coerced me into taking your side, and then it'll really never happen. Because Scotty loves me, and he would never forgive you for that. I will encourage him to reconsider, but I have to be very, very subtle. I'm talking incremental and minute insinuations. I'm talking the kind of shit you couldn't identify as me planting ideas in his head without a fucking transcript of the conversations and an analyst with a PhD. And I can't start doing any of it until your betas back off and he's had time to cool his head."

Derek was being quiet now, and that made Stiles nervous because he couldn't tell what it meant. He could be considering trying things Stiles' way since his own was failing left and right. Or he could be deciding to kidnap Stiles and hold him hostage until Scott agreed to his demands.

"You really think you can get him to join?" Derek finally asked, and Stiles felt his shoulders slump in relief. That was a good answer. That meant he was giving this serious thought.

"I can point out the benefits of such an arrangement and let Scott decide for himself if he wants it or not," Stiles said, "Which is how you should be approaching this, by the way. Even if I'm making up his mind for him, he needs to think he's doing it himself, and whatever he chooses, I'm going to support his decision. Even if I don't agree. Why? Because I am the world's best friend."

"And I get to stand around and twiddle my thumbs until you've subtly coaxed him into making the right choice?"

"You get to observe, from a respectful distance and with an appropriate amount of awe, as I work the Stilinski Magic. Also, who says things like 'twiddle my thumbs' anymore? What are you? Ninety-five?"

"I don't like to stand around and wait."

No kidding. Stiles had never met a more proactive person than Derek Hale. He just also hadn't met someone whose proactivity and plans went horribly awry so often either. Maybe, because they were poorly thought out and poorly executed. Maybe, Stiles should get him some books on strategy and tactics to go with the leadership lessons, but that could wait. He'd need to do some research to find the right ones. And he wasn't going to spend more money on books for the guy if he wasn't even reading them. Stiles needed a way to find out without being obvious.

"Hey, we all gotta take one for the team now and then," Stiles said, "So, man up or wolf up or alpha up or whatever you call it when you do it now-a-days, and let the more appropriately-skilled party handle this delicate task. Also, did you read that book I gave you?"

Shit, he hadn't meant to ask that. He wasn't going to bring that up outright. He was going to look for signs that the book had been opened at least and then just going to throw the next one at Derek's face as Stiles ran out the door. That had worked well enough last time, hadn't it?

"I don't need your opinions on my leadership style," Derek growled. His eyes flashed red. Okay. Definitely hadn't read the book then.

"You may not want my opinion, but you sure as shit need help," was what came out of Stiles' mouth even as he cursed his runaway tongue, "Dude, you suck at this. Really. You do. I mean, you train your pack to fight by ordering them to attack you and then breaking their bones. I've seen you do it. Did it ever occur to you that it might be a good idea to start off by showing them where a person's weak spots are, or to teach them some attack combinations so they have a base to start from? No wonder they got their asses handed to them by Scott, the world's cuddliest teddy bear. And maybe, try giving them a little praise when they do something right. These are three people in serious need of positive reinforcement, and you are not giving it to them. Didn't you promise them you'd make their lives better? I mean, yeah, Isaac's not locked in a freezer, but you kick the shit out of him and call it training. Erica's not epilleptic anymore, but you're pimping her out to try and get someone to join your little cult, and if that doesn't throw up the Red Flags of Abusive Relationships, I don't know what does. And Boyd said he didn't want to be alone all the time. What are you doing to make him feel like he's a part of this pack other than failing at training him to fight? Sending him to antagonize Scott until he gets beaten into a bloody pulp? You didn't even send someone to watch his back. Way to go, man. That's some awesome leadership there."

At this point, Stiles finally managed to get his mouth in check and keep the rest of his tirade from spilling out because there was so much more he wanted to say, starting with the fact that all of the betas needed major personality adjustments, but Derek looked like he would legit strangle him if he said another word. Now would be a good time to get the hell out of here. Before Erica, Isaac, and Boyd showed up or Derek blew his stack. Stiles took a step back toward the door, but that was as far as he made it before Derek's hand shot out and clamped on his arm. Tight enough to be uncomfortable, but not enough to really hurt. 

Okay, that could be worse. 

"I'll back off Scott," Derek said, "I'll even apoogize to him if you think it'll help, but I want something in return."

"Yeah, don't apologize yet," Stiles said, "He won't think you mean it. You gotta to give it time so he thinks you maybe thought things over and realized you were being an asshole. What do you want from us?"

Derek's grip loosened, but he didn't let go. He was looking strangely intent. He must have thought of something he really wanted that Scott and Stiles weren't going to want to give him or do for him. 

"Not from him," Derek said, "From you. I back off Scott and call off my betas, and in return, I get to fuck you. As often as I want."

Okay, Stiles could not have heard that correctly. 

"What?" Shit, his voice sounded squeaky. That was not even fair. Someone had just propositioned him for the first time in his life, seriously or not, and he was regressing to a pre-pubescent state. 

"You let me fuck you," Derek said, pulling Stiles a step nearer, "whenever I want, however I want, and I'll leave Scott alone so you can convince him to join the pack."

Okay, that was a repeat on the propositioning. Red alert. This was not a drill, everybody. This was for realskis. Holy shit, this was for real! Someone wanted to do him for the first time in his freaking life. Someone so far out of his league that his league didn't even border their league. There were like at least three or four leagues between their leagues. And he hadn't even had to grovel or shower them with bribes thinly veiled as gifts to make them take pity on him. Oh, god, this couldn't be real. This had to be a trick or something.

"You want to have sex with me?" Stiles' voice had not come down out of the dog whistle range yet. Good thing Derek was a werewolf.

Derek grinned. "Yep."

This was a hallucination. That was the only viable explanation. Stiles had hit his head somehow and was hallucinating, becase there was no way in hell Derek Hale, he of the Hotness Factor of twelve on a scale from one to ten, wanted to get it on with Stiles, who was sitting at like a solid six-point-five, maybe a seven if someone felt like being really generous, or if they were Scotty and wanted to boost his ego. Wait, this could be an elaborate plan to get back at Stiles for saying Derek sucked at being an alpha by humiliating him somehow. 

"With me?" Stiles felt like he should double and triple check that part, because this was surreal and made no sense. 

"Definitely with you." Derek's voice was getting lower and growlier, "I can smell how much you want me, and you're so damned hot with your shoulders and your tiny waist and your hands and your putting everything in your mouth and sucking on it. I've been thinking about bending you over and just fucking you until you scream for months. So, you're going to let me do that, and I'm going to let you handle Scott."

And now he was pulling Stiles toward him again and holy shit- that was his hand on Stiles' ass. And there was the other one, also on Stiles' ass. Squeezing and kneading and sending the most amazing sensations up his spine and into his balls. And that was making the rest of him feel hot and a little achy and the words fly around in his head. He needed to hold onto something before his legs gave out. Wow, that was a very firm chest Derek had there, and Stiles could feel his abs through both of their shirts. That wasn't fair. How was he supposed to think when all his blood was rushing to his dick? Because where else would it go when he was pressed against this many muscles, muscles that smelled amazing? 

Stop, Stiles. Now was super not the time to get distracted and start drooling. Now was the time to focus. An important conversation was happening. But there were also two very large hands sliding into the back of his jeans and inside his boxers, and they were hot and rough with callouses and squeezing just the right amount to make his knees weak, and that sort of had to take precedence because no one had ever done that before, and there was a law in the universe that said you were not allowed to ignore it when Derek Hale was groping your bare ass. Stiles grabbed the nearest things to his hands in an effort to ground himself, but that happened to be a rock-hard pair of biceps, and they were not exactly bringing him back to earth. He was imagining what arms with biceps like that could do to him in a sexy capacity. And it was really freaking hot.

No, Stiles. Focus.

The first sound that came out of his mouth was less a word and more a garbled series of noises and a moan. Not an auspicious start to rejoining the conversation. Come on now. If this brain could come up with the word auspicious at a time like this, when one of Derek's hands had found its way under his shirt and was playing with his spine and the fingers of his other one were grazing Stiles' hole just a little every few seconds and sending little shocks straight into his dick, it could come up with some reasonable conditions for his safety. Because Stiles had read enough trash on the internet to know you didn't say yes to something as open-ended as that. 

"I have- ah- I have some conditions," Stiles managed to say. He pushed his upper body back, which didn't get him far, but he could look up at Derek's face. Derek was focused in a way he'd never seen before, and his pupils were so wide there was just barely a ring of hazel-green around the outside. Maybe, he really was into this? That was what dilated pupils meant. That he was interested. In Stiles. Whose dick he was rubbing his thigh against. Stiles wasn't sure when he'd gone from standing in front of Derek to riding his thigh, but it felt amazing, and he really didn't regret it.

"Yeah?" Derek leaned down to close his teeth firmly on Stiles' jaw for a second. Then he nuzzled down his neck to his collar bone and back up, leaving a trail of tiny kisses in his wake. This was not helping Stiles focus.

"Conditions! I- uh- I have them."

Derek fastened his mouth over Stiles' pulse point and sucked and at the same time kneaded his ass with both hands, pressed the tip of his finger firmly against his hole, and rolled Stiles' hips into his thigh. Hard. Stiles whimpered. God, he wanted it so bad. This had to be some sort of cheating. There had to be a rule against doing stuff like this when Stiles was trying to remember things. Important things. Things that needed to be said before Stiles could say yes and the sexing could start. Because he really wanted the sexing to start, and based on the way Derek was grinding on him, he did too. He grabbed Derek's hair and tugged until he pulled away from Stiles' neck. He was going to have a gigantic hickey, he just knew it.

"Rules," Stiles said, making himself focus, "Conditions, I mean. I'm not just giving you free rein here. I have a life. Okay, I really don't, but I have a few things I need to do, and I have to have the time to do them. Sex can't cut into my bro time with Scott. That would defeat the purpose. Can't cut into father-son time with my dad. He already works a lot and I've done enough damage to our relationship over the last year by lying about like everything and turning up at every single crime scene. Not... this is not going to screw that up any more than I've already done. If it's still happening when school starts, which I don't anticipate, but you never know, no calling me out during class, although lunch break would be fine from time to time, maybe, unless Scott starts noticing. Can't interfere with Lacrosse, for obvious reasons. Gotta be there to support Scotty. If my grades start slipping, we have to stop until they're back up. I have a GPA to maintain. It's like the one thing I do that consistently makes Dad proud. In terms of the actual sex, we can't do it anywhere in public, because the person who'll get called is my dad, and also, I'm not into exhibition. No tying me up or blindfolding me or like whips or anything. I've had too many bad experiences with kidnapping and stuff for that be be fun. Same goes for anything like strangulation. I'm super not into almost dying. That's not hot. No body modification like tattoos or scars or broken bones or piercings. If I say I don't like something that's not normal sex stuff, we stop doing it. Also, I know you can't catch anything, but if you're going to be banging other people too, I could catch something that's lingering, so condoms, dude. And speaking of other people, this is a non-transferable all-access pass to my ass. No three ways, no gangbangs, no bringing in someone else to fuck me while you watch or anything like that. And obviously, no pictures or videos, because my ass is underage, and that's kiddy porn. Also, I feel like I should remind you that I am underage and if we get caught, you'll end up on the sex offenders list and probably in jail. Also, we aren't doing anything that involves vomit, blood, feces, or piss because that is gross and not sexy at all." 

Derek looked amused. "I must be doing this wrong if you can concentrate enough to come up with a list like that."

He was so not doing it wrong because Stiles' brains and insides were melting into a puddle of goo, but that wasn't the point.

"Derek, I'm serious here," Stiles said, "I'm really enjoying that you're doing right now, but if we're actually making this deal, I need you to take this part seriously, or I'm out."

"Your terms are fine, Stiles. I'm starting to wonder what exactly you think I'm into, but your terms are fine. If I don't have sex with anyone else, do I have to use a condom?"

"That would depend on what's going on after the sex and how much time we have to clean up, and I don't know what you're into except for apparently my ass because you haven't left it alone since you started touching me."

"Okay, I accept."

"You do?" Stiles really needed to stop asking that or the answer was going to change, and then he would miss out on the sex.

Derek hmm-ed and slid the hand in Stiles' pants under Stiles' ass and hauled him up so he could wrap his legs around Dereks' waist. With one hand. Like it was nothing. And that... that was just exactly the sort of hot manhandling Stiles had been talking about.


	3. Stiles

Honestly, Stiles had expected sex with Derek to mostly be about Derek getting off. He'd figured making it fun for Stiles, specifically fun for him, not as an afterthought or just generally fun because hello, it was sex, was not going to be a priority. Getting off was what Derek was getting out of this deal. Stiles was getting a chance to handle the Scott-Pack to-be-or-not-to-be situation like it should have been handled from the start. He'd also figured it would happen maybe a couple times a week. That was about normal for most couples, wasn't it? And they weren't a couple. This was a booty call thing. Oh my god, Stiles was someone's booty call. What was his life? When did this become his life? And he'd expected Derek to kind of... well... throw Stiles straight off the deep end, as it were.

He was wrong on all counts.

Derek hadn't jumped right into the sex in the fullest sense of the word. He'd sealed their deal as soon as Stiles had confirmed that it was made with a slightly rougher than Stiles would normally give himself but still awesome handjob, which had, yes, involved a finger up his ass. But it wasn't like Stiles hadn't tried that on his own several times, all with resoundingly positive results, and Stiles had jerked him off in return. And then, and this should have been a warning sign, he'd played with Stiles' prostate until his dick had woken back up and made him come so hard that he shook and may actually have screamed. Then Derek had licked him clean, tucked him back into his pants, made them both ham sandwiches, which they ate in silence, Derek, beause he wasn't a chatterer, and Stiles, because he was too dazed and blissed out to put a sentence together, and sent him home on trembling legs. They'd progressed from hand jobs to blow jobs to hammering Stiles' ass into the next century over the rest of the week, which was pretty nice of Derek since Stiles had no experience. He'd said yes, but that hadn't meant he wasn't nervous that he'd fail miserably at sex. Derek was surprisingly patient though, encouraging him to try things when he was curious and offering little tidbits of advice without making Stiles feel like an idiot. 

More than that, Derek was fully invested in Stiles having orgasms. Lots and lots of them. In fact, he was more invested in making Stiles come than in making himself come. No joke. Stiles had figured sex with someone other than himself was going to be awesome. Kissing certainly was. Why wouldn't sex be that much better? Sex with Derek was beyond amazing. Like seriously. The guy should come with a warning sign. Your Heart May Stop, But It Will Be From Sheer Hotness And Copious Orgasms, So Don't Complain. The guy had a thing for making Stiles come, okay? Like a legit thing for it. Stiles' dick was sort of struggling to keep up, and he was sixteen. Some days, it just failed to keep up altogether.

And that? That was because he wasn't getting booty called, called for booty? How did you put that when you were the booty not the caller? Derek wasn't calling him for sex a couple times a week. He was doing it a couple times a day. Or showing up at his house to bend him over the nearest surface and pound his ass until Stiles couldn't have put together a coherent thought if it was the only way he could save the world. Or to drop to his knees and suck Stiles' brain out his dick. Or finger him until he was begging for it and then leaving him high and dry and with orders not to touch himself eight times in one day and then appearing at bedtime and fucking him until he came so hard he blacked out for a second or two. Or hopping in the shower with him to jerk him off over and over until his dick and balls were so sensitive that Stiles couldn't even put his boxers on. It was a good thing Dad worked so often, or they'd have been caught for sure.

It wasn't even always sex. Sometimes, he showed up in Stiles' room at night and they'd just make out on his bed for a while and go to sleep. And then morning sex. Mmm... morning sex. Stiles loved morning sex. Even with morning breath. Sex was the best way to start your day. And sometimes, Derek would show up in the middle of the day, and he and Stiles would eat lunch together and talk about random shit and end up cuddling on the couch and watching tv or movies. Granted, cuddling involved a fair amount of groping, from both parties, and hickeys, mostly from Derek because marking up Stiles was also a thing for him and anything Stiles did to Derek was gone in a few seconds. Not that that deterred him, but it was still more Derek's thing than his. But groping, cuddling, and hickeys weren't actual sex. Although they often led to more sex.

And it didn't stop when Melissa decided to send Scott down to Mexico to stay with her sister and her sister's family at the end of June. The betas had backed off, and things were going well with Allison, but Melissa was still so freaked out over the fact that Scott had been pissed enough to break someone's bones that she'd decided maybe some time away from Beacon Hills would help him get a grip on his self-control. Scott had started pulling double shifts at the animal clinic as soon as he'd found out because he was saving up for a motorcycle and spending two months in Baja was going to put a dent in his projected earnings. And yes, Stiles had made spreadsheets and charts for him so he knew how many hours he'd need to work before he had enough for the down payment, gas, and insurance, because Scotty responded to visual motivation. So, their bro time during June had pretty much consisted of long phone calls, skype, and xbox live. Which was probably for the best, since Stiles was pretty sure he absolutely reeked of Derek, even after he showered.

He'd showered three times before going over to see Scott off, and for good measure, told Derek that he needed the day before to be Derek-free so that Scott didn't ask awkward questions about why Stiles smelled like him and ruin the entire plan. Derek hadn't argued, although he had jumped Stiles' bones the second he got back home and fucked him so thoroughly that Stiles literally couldn't stand afterwards.

But the point was, the sex didn't stop when Scott went off to stay with his aunt. He and Stiles had standing skype dates every other day and called and texted in between, and Stiles did a lot of running around delivering Scott's romantic gestures to Allison, but with Scott out of town and blocking callers an option, there was no way for Derek and his pack to harass him. But Derek didn't stop calling and coming over and fucking Stiles into oblivion, and Stiles didn't ask him to.


	4. Danny

Danny didn't really consider himself friends with Stiles. It wasn't that he had a problem with the guy. Yeah, he never shut up, and you were bound to take an elbow or a hand to the face if you weren't paying attention when he was around, but he was a nice enough kid. Kind of awkward, a little desperate for sex, but really? What sixteen-year-old wasn't? And Scott was nice, and the two of them were practically joined at the hip when Scott wasn't making out with Allison.

So, when Stiles texted him out of the blue and asked if he would let him practice making shots on the goal, he was a little surprised. The follow up text Stiles sent explaining that Scott was down in Mexico for the summer and there was no one else on the team other than Danny that Stiles didn't think would just take the opportunity to beat on him a little if he asked to practice with them made more sense. And honestly, with Jackson out of town for the summer too, Danny kind of felt for Stiles, not having his best friend around to hang out with. So, he said yes, because he could put up with Stiles' babbling for an hour, and if this was an excuse for Stiles to ask if gay guys found him attractive again, Danny could just bail. Just because he was out of the closet, that didn't make him some kind of sexuality guru.

Stiles met him at the community center, already in his workout clothes and padding and bouncing off walls a little. He dropped his stick three times in the time it took Danny to cross the parking lot. That didn't bode well for this practice session. How had Stilinski even made the team in the first place? He was a decent sprinter, Danny supposed, better to have someone fast on the bench as a last resort than nothing.

"Danny, hey! Did you bring a ball? I brought one, but then I was bouncing it off the wall, you know, to practice catching, and it kind of disappeared on me. Okay, it may have broken the window on someone's car, but that was way on the opposite end of the parking lot, and there aren't security cameras here, and no one saw it happen, so I don't think it really counts. Also, I stuck like fifty bucks through the hole, so I hope that covered the damages. Do you know how much it costs to replace a car window? Do you think it's more than fifty bucks?"

"I have no idea."

"Oh, well. I'm not going back over there, so if you don't have a ball, we're shit out of luck."

"I have a ball, Stiles."

"Oh, good."

"But if you ask me one question about being gay, I'm out of here."

"Hey, no worries. I got that stuff figured out now."

Danny resisted the urge to ask, and for once in his life, Stiles did not elaborate.

Practice was actually more fun than he expected, and Stiles wasn't as bad as he remembered. That, or he'd been practicing a lot or had problems with nerves during team practice. He even made a few goals. They were in the locker room changing when Danny noticed the bruises. He hadn't looked over on purpose, but Stiles made a sound between a hiss and a yelp, and looking up to see if he was okay was just automatic. He was hopping up off the bench with his jersey halfway over his head, and his undershirt had pulled up with it.

And he had bruises in the shape of very large hands on his hips and waist. Like someone had been grabbing and pulling pretty hard. Dark purple bruises and older ones that had faded to green and yellow. And hickeys and bite marks to go with them.

"Holy shit, Stilinski, you weren't kidding when you said you figured things out." He didn't mean to say that. Really, he was going to mind his own business and be glad Stiles was getting laid and working off some of that pent up energy, but it slipped out.

"What? Oh, shit." Stiles yanked his shirt back down, sat automatically, and jumped back to his feet with another yelp. "God damn it!"

Danny would not have asked any more questions, but the look that crossed Stiles' face, a look Danny was sure he didn't realize was there, was more upset than a little post-sex soreness should cause, and Danny couldn't not.

"You okay, Stiles?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." Stiles still did not look fine.

"You sure?" Danny asked, "I know I said I wasn't open for questions, but if you need to talk, I'd rather you did."

"I swear I didn't ask you to practice to ask about guys."

"Just ask."

Stiles fiddled with the netting on his lacrosse stick for a moment. "How do you tell a guy you need a break from sex without him thinking you don't like having sex with him?"

Wow. This was uncomfortable.

"I think you just tell him the sex is great but you need a few days for things to feel normal again. If you're in a relationship, he should respect that. He's not pushing you to do things you don't want, is he?"

"No. No, the sex is... out of this world, seriously, and I'm totally into the things we do, and he always stops whenever I say something's not doing it for me, and he never gets mad about it. It's just... we have sex like all the time. And I do mean all the time. Like several times a day, every day, for the last month and a half. I swear his libido is super human. My prostate is one giant bruise right now, and I really need like a week for my ass to stop aching so that I can sit down. I'm just worried that if I tell him that, he'll take it the wrong way."

That was way more detailed information than Danny needed. 

"Just be direct," Danny said, "If he doesn't get upset when you say no to something in the middle of sex, I don't think he'll get pissy about this. Also, you might want to tell him to ease up on the grabbing, because I don't think that much bruising is healthy."

Stiles blushed. "He's not hurting me. He's just... really strong, and I bruise like a peach."

"It's that guy you said was your cousin Miguel, isn't it? I knew that was weird." Danny had done a little poking around when he'd gotten home after that particular encounter, and Stiles didn't have a cousin named Miguel. The man in his room was named Derek Hale, and Danny knew the Hales had been werewolves. Well, that explained the superhuman libido and the bruises and the hickeys. The guy was a werewolf. Was it possible Stiles didn't know that? Actually, Stiles had to know, because Stiles knew Scott was a werewolf, and he was too smart to miss the signs in another person. But Stiles didn't know Danny knew about werewolves.

"We weren't together then," Stiles said, "and he's not my cousin. Don't tell anyone, okay? He's a little older, and I haven't even told Scott that I'm bi yet."

"Didn't your dad arrest that guy once?" Danny asked, "I swear that was him."

"Oh, my god."

And that was a yes. Stiles was officially having sex with a twenty-something year old murder suspect. A super hot one with like eight pack abs and a chiseled jaw, but still. Trust Stiles to jump straight into the deep end once he discovered he swung both ways. And with a werewolf.

"Please don't tell my dad, okay? I really, really like this guy, and not just because of his body and the things he lets me do to it."

"I won't tell anyone, Stiles, but if I start seeing signs that this relationship is going south, I'm not keeping my mouth shut. He's like six years older than you." 

"That's not going to happen."

"He really cares about you?"

Stiles blushed and looked down at his toes. "Yeah, I think he does."

Oh good grief. He was going to be just like Scott was with Allison, wasn't he? He was already getting that goofy look on his face and melting into a puddle. Those two really were like brothers. At least, Danny wouldn't have to watch Stiles and Derek swapping saliva since Derek could go to jail if anyone saw.

Danny couldn't get the conversation out of his head after Stiles left. Partly because it brought to mind mental images of Stilinski making out with Derek, and that... that was not a bad image, right there. Stiles wasn't his type, but picturing him with Derek was actually pretty hot. Especially when he pictured the sort of activities involved in putting bruises on his hips like that. But he also couldn't get it out of his head because he knew Stiles had no experience, and he wasn't completely convinced that Derek wasn't taking advantage of him, and Scott wasn't around to go to bat for Stiles, werewolf-a-werewolf. And picturing Scott with Derek was even hotter than Stiles with Derek. Shit. He was getting off track. The point was, Scott was out of town and Stiles was in over his head, and the only other people he had to give Derek a shovel talk were his dad and Melissa McCall, and Danny had promised not to tell. And Danny could not, in good conscience, let this go without doing something. 

And that was why he found himself driving around town until he spotted Derek's camero at the gas station and pulling up to the pump on the other side of his. He was pretty sure Hale was keeping an eye on him behind his shades, but his face was not giving anything away. He'd grown out his beard a little, and there was a lot less gel in his hair. It was a good look. More relaxed. Everything was a good look on him. How did Stiles land a guy that hot? It was like Danny had stepped into the twilight zone.

"Hey, Miguel," he said.

Derek nodded but didn't say anything.

"I know you're not his cousin," Danny said. That got his attention. Derek straightened up from where he was leaning against his car, and shit, he was even bigger than Danny remembered.

"And I know it's not my business," Danny went on, "and if Scott were in town, I wouldn't be here, but he's not, so I am."

"You're right." Derek was radiating a very menacing aura even if his voice was bland. "It's not your business."

"I don't know what you're doing," Danny went on before he could chicken out, "I don't know if you're serious about Stiles or if this is casual or even some sort of game to you, but it's not a game for him. He's never been in a relationship of any kind before, and he is not as secure about things like this as he'd like people to believe."

"I'm aware of that."

"I'm not finished. Scott's not here, so I'm doing this because Stiles doesn't have anyone else. Stiles has no experience with men or sex or relationships, and I think you knew that going into this. And he may insist that you aren't taking advantage of him, but I don't believe that so easily. If I find out you're fucking him over, I'll tell his dad. You're twenty-two, and he's sixteen. That's a felony. And then I'll tell Chris Argent, and he will personally load the wolfsbane into Sheriff Stilinski's shotgun."

Derek froze. Yeah, he hadn't been expecting that. Danny wasn't supposed to know, probably. 

"I'm not fucking him over," Derek said.

"Good." Danny nodded. "And you should know that I have a time-release email that will tell his dad and Mr. Argent about you two on the internet, and if anything should make it so I can't continue delaying its delivery, that would be too damned bad. And for god's sake, give those bruises a chance to heal. He'll develop a clotting problem."

"How did you know?" 

"That you're a werewolf or that you and Stiles are involved?"

"Both."

"You're a Hale," Danny said, "and Stiles and I did some Lacrosse drills today. I saw the bruises when his undershirt pulled up with his jersey. I dragged it out of him. Not who you actually are, but that his cousin Miguel wasn't actually his cousin Miguel, and it wasn't hard to figure out the rest. And before I forget to mention it, you have to back off him a little. The poor kid can't sit."

"Shit," Derek muttered, pulling off his shades and pinching the bridge of his nose.

"I'm going to go now." Danny turned back to his car.

"Danny."

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for looking out for him. I know you two aren't close."

"Yeah."


	5. Stiles

Stiles was going to do this, okay? He could totally do this. Danny seemed to think it would be fine and he'd had boyfriends before, so he legit had reason to know if that was true or not. And he wasn't mean enough to mess with Stiles' head like that. Jackson was, but Danny wasn't. So, when Derek came for supper, he was just going to sit him down and tell him that this week was going to be the Week Of No Sticking His Dick Anywhere Near Stiles' Ass. Because every time it got in the general vicinity and clothes started coming off, Derek's dick inevitably ended up inside Stiles's ass. Even when he promised himself that he'd distract Derek with a blow job or something. And while there was always plenty of lube involved, his ass was sore, and he was starting to worry that his asshole was going to permanently loosen. He'd looked it up on the internet to see if that could happen, and some traumatizing shit had popped up in the search results. So, Stiles was making spaghetti because that involved sucking on noodles, and if he could get Derek thinking about sucking already, he'd be more amenable to agreeing to whatever Stiles said in order to get to the sucking dick part. Wow, that was overuse of the word sucking.

Derek better get here soon, though, because he was supposed to bring garlic bread, and they'd need to have time to heat it up in the oven, and that needed to start not too long after the noodles, and Stiles was almost done browning the meat. Ground turkey, because Dad was going to be eating the left-overs in his lunch, and it was best to slip him non-beef meat in meals that were supposed to contain beef when it was hard to tell. Less complaining that way. Also, then when he cheated and snuck greasy bacon-cheeseburgers at work, it wasn't as big a deal, and Stiles could ignore it and pretend he didn't know. Even though he totally knew.

He was just dumping the noodles into boiling water when he heard the Camero pull in, so he set the oven on preheat and fished the baking sheets out of the warming tray down below. Even crouching hurt, and he had to grab the counter and pull himself up because his legs just wouldn't do it on their own. Yeah, this conversation needed to be had.

"Can you get the big sauce pan down?" Stiles asked when Derek appeared in the doorway, "It's way on the top shelf, and I can't remember where I put the stool."

"In the bathroom. You were looking for the rags you were sure had gotten shoved to the back of the closet but that you'd actually used as washcloths when you were too lazy to do laundry." Derek set the grocery bag on the counter and went to get the sauce pan while Stiles spread the pieces of garlic bread on the sheets.

"It's Dad's turn this week."

"You didn't do it last week, so I'm pretty sure it's yours."

"Hey." Stiles pointed a piece of frozen bread in his direction. "Hey, whose side are you even on?"

"Whichever side will result in clean towels. You know I can smell the dirty laundry from here, right?"

"Sounds like a personal problem." Stiles leaned down to put the baking sheets in the oven and felt Derek's hands grip lightly on his hips and a deep, satisfied hum rumble in the werewolf's throat. Shit. Putting the idea of bending him over things in Derek's head was not the goal. Sucking was the goal. Literal sucking, not figurative. Figurative sucking was never the goal. 

He swatted the hands away and straightened up. "Not now, I need to make the sauce."

Derek gave him a dirty grin that said he was considering cracking a joke about making sauce, but he just kissed Stiles instead, soft and warm, and then went back to leaning on the counter and watching him pour jars of spaghetti sauce into the pan. Stiles felt his face heat up, not from the jokes, but from the kiss, and that was ridiculous because they kissed a lot. But this was one of the quick, affectionate ones that had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with just plain liking a person, and that was a reminder that Stiles was one hundred percent sure Derek just plain liked him. Which he hadn't thought possible given how pissy the guy had been every time he'd spoken to Stiles before all the sexing and during the first few weeks of it even. But somewhere along the line, it had happened. Between the conversations and the cuddling and Derek not so sneakily reading the books Stiles picked out for him while Stiles was sprawled across his chest recovering from his orgasms and drifting in and out of sleep and Derek applying some of the techniques to working with his betas and discovering hey, Stiles was right and I should take his advice more often. Somewhere in the middle of all that, Derek had discovered the thing only Scott had discovered so far. The Awesomeness of Stiles Stilinski. And he was not immune, contrary to what Stiles had assumed when he'd been helping out with the Kanima and Gerard Argent. 

He would give Derek a pass on hating him during the Peter stuff. Derek had just lost his sister suddenly and horribly, and Stiles and Scott had dug up her corpse and accused him of murdering her. Not a great start to a relationship. And even when they'd been working together, Stiles hadn't been all that friendly, okay? Largely because he'd been terrified of Derek, but he was man enough to admit that he'd wished a few times that Derek would get killed and he'd never have to see him again. And he'd probably said that to his face at least twice. And then Derek was the Alpha and was biting the absolute wrong people and turning them into violent, arrogant assholes, and Derek himself was so hopped up on power that his minor assholery had jacked up a few levels like one of those cars people took out and drove around in the mud. And it took a while for Stiles to see it behind the sneering and the threats and the constant distrust, but Derek was in way over his head and he really needed help expressing his true motivations. 

Because Derek really, desperately just wanted to be safe and to keep his pack safe. And as the alpha and the guy who knew the most about supernatural monsters and crap, he saw himself as responsible for making sure that happened, and part of that responsibility was making sure the betas and Scott did as he said when it came to things that put them in danger. Like hunters and their gorgeous but lethal daughters. Thus, his vigorous and misguided campaign on Scott's sanity when really what Derek should have been doing was demonstrating to Scott that he had his back. That Derek, as Alpha, saw himself as the guy whose job it was to have all his betas' backs every second of every day, no matter what. That Derek would go to bat for each and every one of them without a single question asked, no matter how terrifying the pitcher was or how high the probability of his own demise. Because he would. He absolutely would. And in return he wanted them to have his back and to listen to his advice and take him seriously when he said that something was going to kill them and they should keep their distance. He hadn't done so hot a job explaining that to Erica, Isaac, and Boyd either, but he was making huge strides now, thanks to Stiles and his leadership books. 

And Stiles was lining Scott up to be able to see that clearly for himself when he got back. He was doing small things now, dropping little tidbits of good favor. Phase One had been getting Scotty to vent all his anger and frustration revolving around Derek, the pack, and all the shit that had gone down in the last year, get it all aired to a non-judgemental audience, which had the dual effect of getting it off Scott's chest and solidifying in Stiles' mind what exactly he needed to combat here. Because Stiles was a multitasker and he was the master of being efficient, okay? Not that he hadn't already known what was going on in Scott's head, though, because they'd talked about most of it before and Stiles had extrapolated the rest from his vast quantities of best-friendship knowledge and experience. 

Phase Two had been talking Scott into seeing some of those events, and Derek and his pack, in a different light, from a slightly different point of view. Not quite a positive one, but a neutral one. He'd even done the same with Allison and her psycho relatives, although, with Alli, it had been taking her slightly out of the Halo of Glowing Goodness in which Scott had enshrined her and moving her a few steps closer to Fallible Human but Still Incredibly Wonderful and Perfect. Not Peter, though. Scott should not trust Peter, and it was good to have someone other than Jackson and Gerard to consistently bad mouth. Stiles may or may not have been transferring a lot of Scott's hostility towards Derek onto Peter, and to be fair that was where a lot of it belonged. Also, Peter was a creep and a terrible person, and he'd once threatened Melissa, who was literally the best person Stiles had ever met ever, and made her cry. He deserved Scott's eternal hatred.

Now, Stiles was in Phase Three. With Scott in a neutral position, he was planting tiny seeds in his mind that maybe Derek had gotten his head out of his butt and was acting like a decent human being. Stiles had a lot of ammunition for this one, but he had to pick and choose. This was the most risky part, the part where Scott's brain was most likely to kick into gear and let him know something wasn't smelling right, that someone was trying to steer him in a direction he hadn't planned on going. And contrary to popular belief, Scott's brain was super vigilant about things like that. His BS detector was like a freaking seismograph, and it could detect a tremor on the other side of the planet. Luckily for Stiles, Scott trusted him to have his best interests at heart and had a history of letting Stiles steer him that did not end disasterously. So, even if his brain saw the little needle start to wiggle when Stiles was talking, it would ignore it longer than it did with everyone else. Because Stiles had proven that he only steered Scott into safer waters, and he only did it when Scott didn't see the rocks he was headed for but Stiles did. But that didn't mean he could go crazy here. He had to choose his timing carefully and his tidbits even more so. He may or may not have spent an entire week listing possible tidbits and their pros and cons and then ranking them against one another by impact, entertainment value, and the probability of a natural opening for casually mentioning them coming up in a conversation. 

The day Derek had seen Stiles' charts and lists had gone down in Stiles' mind as both the best sex they'd had to date and the best cuddling and talking. Derek had slipped in his window in the middle of the night to wake him up for a quickie, which was another one of Stiles favorite times to have sex since he was all relaxed and midnight quickies with Derek were actually always slow and gentle and involved a lot of Derek basically petting him, and then spooning while Derek gave him awkward hickeys to explain to his dad. Instead, he'd found Stiles asleep at his desk, all the evidence spread out for anyone creepy enough to climb through his window for sex to see. He'd dumped Stiles on the bed and spent the rest of the night reading through Phase Three. And then he'd felt compelled to express his approval. With sex and long conversations. 

And things after that had taken an alarming turn for the domestic, which was why Stiles was in his kitchen cooking spaghetti for both of them and his dad while Derek harassed him about laundry and changing batteries in the smoke alarms.

Operation Sucks Not Fucks was slightly foiled by the fact that they ate at the counter, officially because it was closer and Stiles was lazy but  
really because he couldn't sit down, and he ended up sort of leaning over his plate. And somehow, Derek ended up staring in almost equal parts at his ass and his mouth. Not a total bust, but not as successful as it would have been if they'd eaten at the table like civilized human and wolven beings. Werewolven? Was that even a word? Was wolven a word? He was pretty sure it was. Like sixty percent sure. Stiles talked about something all throughout dinner, but he couldn't for the life of him remember what, because once they were done eating and the dishes were in the sink, they were going to lay down on the couch and digest, and then it was going to be time to have The Conversation That Might End All The Sex Forever. He just hoped that he hadn't been talking about circumcision and whether or not Scott's foreskin had grown back after he got bit. That had happened before. And then their plates were empty and Stiles' heart felt like it was going to come right up his esophogus and out his mouth, and Derek was giving him a concerned look and asking if he was okay.

"Yep. Fine. I am. Super fine. The finest, in fact. Can I talk to you about something?"

"You've been talking non-stop for the last half hour, so, yes, you can. But I'm assuming you mean that you have something important you want to tell me or ask me and you want my attention, and yes, you can have that too."

"Okay, awesome. That's awesome. You're awesome. Have I told you how awesome I think you are lately?" 

Derek was towing him into the livingroom and settling on the couch, with Stiles stretched out half on top of him and half wedged between him and the back of the couch. 

"You have," Derek said.

"Good, because I do think that." Stiles plucked at the buttons on Derek's henley because it didn't involve looking at his face.

"You want to tell me what's on your mind before your heart explodes?"

"MyasshurtsandIneedaweekofnosex."

There was a moment of silence where Stiles waited for the hammer to drop and Derek's hand went still on his back.

"Okay, I got 'ass hurts' and 'no sex' out of that," Derek said, "Is that the jist of it?"

"Basically." Stiles made himself look up into Dereks' face, which thankfully did not look mad at all. "I love having sex with you, and I love that you want to do it all the time, but dude, I'm human, and certain parts of me get sore from all the activity no matter how much lube we use, and I need some time for those parts to recover. I need like a solid week of nothing touching my ass. We can do everything else, but my butt needs to be off limits. No fingers, no tongues, no dicks, nothing. Especially my prostate. My poor prostate needs a vacation. And while we're on the topic of things that are a little too much, three orgasms right in a row is good, but once you start getting past four or five, they stop being so much fun. I like the idea of it a lot, but in practice, it sort of just... hurts."

"Okay," Derek said and gave him a fond smile.

"Okay?"

"Okay. Are you sore anywhere else?"

Stiles dropped his head down onto Derek's shoulder and settled in for a long snuggle. "My legs are a shaky. They don't hurt, but they're a little wobbly. I seriously love the marathon sex. I do. I really, really do. It's just that the spirit is willing but the flesh is weak. My spirit is very willing to have all the sex with you, all the time. Just so you know. This is not an issue of me not wanting to sex you."

"I know." Derek ran his hands up and down Stiles' back, carefully massaging his muscles until they were relaxed and loose, and then he did the same to his upper legs. Stiles felt like a pat of butter on a pancake like in one of those breakfast food commercials. All warm and delicious. He should keep an eye on the time, though, because Dad was off work at eight tonight. And then one of Derek's hands slid into the back of his pants and he was feeling a whole lot less buttery.

"Derek?"

"Shh. I'm not going to fuck you. Just trust me."

Stiles did his best to relax, but it was a little hard with Derek's huge, hot palm on his asscheek and his fingers dipping steadily into the crack, and that was a finger inside him. Didn't even need lube because Stiles was still slick enough from earlier today. Derek's fingertip nudged his prostate, and Stiles hissed through his teeth. That hurt.

"Derek," he said, starting to push up on his hands. And then he collapsed with a deep moan. Holy god, what was that? That was amazing. It was like all the pain and tension in his body had been sucked away and replaced with clouds of rose petals and marshmallow fluff.

"Oh, my god," Stiles slurred, "What is that? Did my prostate do that? Because you can totally sex me if you can get my prostate to do that. I mean, I won't be able to do anything other than lay there and take it because my body will have turned to jello, but I am totally on board."

"No, idiot, I did that. I'm draining your pain. It's more effective the closer you get to the injured area."

"Is that what that is? It's... wow. Just wow. Does it hurt you when you do that?"

"Nothing I can't handle, but you should tell me you're getting sore before you get to this point, okay? No wonder you can't sit down."

"I never told you that."

"You think I wouldn't notice that you never sat down?" 

"Oh. Yeah, I suppose you might, but most of the time when I sit around you, I'm sitting on your dick, and that, I have done."

"I noticed that too. No complaints."

Stiles giggled, but he was going to blame that on the pain drain. Derek kissed him on the forehead and pulled his hand back out of Stiles' pants, giving his ass an affectionate squeeze. Yeah, he liked Stiles' ass. It was one of his best friends. They got along really well.

"What time is it?" Stiles asked.

"Six-thirty. Your dad get off at seven or eight?"

"Eight."

"I need to go at seven. I'm taking the pack out to the preserve for training. There've been some weird animal deaths lately. Enough that I think we should be looking into it. Even if it's just some stupid teenagers screwing around, it'll be good practice."

"My dad said something about that, so keep an eye out for the Sheriff's department poking around too."

"Hey, how are things going with Scott?" Derek asked about Scott maybe once a week now-a-days. It had been more frequent at the start of all this, but even though they hadn't called off the deal officially, Stiles didn't think that was why he was over here anymore, especially not after he'd read about Phase Three. Recruiting Scott was just something Stiles was working on on the side.

"Pretty good," Stiles said, "He's not mad anymore, and he's had some questions he was on the verge of asking me to ask you for him, but he didn't. He's right on the cusp. A little push should do the trick. Maybe a couple little pushes. I think it'd help if he knew your betas better. Scotty likes people, and the last he saw of them, they were being assholes to everybody. I think if he could see how much they've come down from their power trips and figure out what they're all about, he'd be more on board."

"How do we do that? It's not like they can start calling or texting him and having heart-to-hearts."

"No, not so much. It'll have to wait until he gets back, but you should get things in place now if you can, and you don't want to overload him. Don't shove them all in his face. Maybe start with just one."

"Which one?" Derek asked.

"Not Erica, for sure. He's been away from Alli for a long time. He's going to want to reconnect with her as smoothly as possible, and having the girl who spent the last months of school rubbing her boobs on him around all the time isn't a good idea. Maybe Issac? He's got... Scott saw the freezer, okay? He helped get him out of that situation. There's already a connection there and a reason for Scott to understand why he went off the rails and took a little detour into douchebag-ville and to be more forgiving about it. Hey, you should send Isaac to Deaton, see if he can get a job at the animal clinic. Deaton's got to be short-handed with Scott gone, and Isaac loves animals. Scotty's going to take one look at him comforting sick dogs and kittens and melt into a puddle of goo faster than he does when Allison smiles at him."

"It would be good for Isaac to have a job. He's going to be driving soon. He'll need money if he wants to go places and do things, and it'd be good for him to have some responsibilities. And Boyd and Erica already have jobs."

"Aw, look at you. Big alpha looking after his beta babies. You're going to raise them up so good."

"Shut up."

"Hey, you've come a long way, and as your alpha-ing coach and personal life guru, I take at least half credit. An argument could be made for sixty percent."

Derek laughed. "What?"

"Oh, come on. I know you've been reading those books on my bedside stand. You think I put them there on accident?"

"I think you're incredibly nosy and intrusive."

"Actually, I'm incredibly preceptive and helpful. I saw raw potential and set to work molding it into the fine, upstanding Alpha we see before us today. First Scott, then you. I should make a career out of this."

Derek snorted. "You're ridiculous. But I will concede on the helpful part. You're very helpful."

"Hey, I done good, kid."

"You did, but I'm not giving you half of the credit. I had to do all the legwork and part of the brainwork. You can have forty percent."

"Forty-five."

"Forty-two."

"And a half."

"Fine. Forty-two-and-a-half percent of my success is due to you."


	6. Stiles

Grocery shopping was not Stiles' thing. It wasn't the worst, but it was boring and involved making a lot of choices about whether or not to go name brand or generic and how much of his dad's money he could reasonably spend on certain items. Like candy and soda. Also, he was never quite sure what to buy because it wasn't like he and Dad ever discussed what they were going to cook during the week ahead of time. So, unless one or the other of them mentioned that they wanted something specific when he was making the list, he had to try to think of meals while he was at the store. And he was not good at that, okay? He could throw together six or seven basic meals just out of his head, but he needed recipes for anything else, and they always called for weird-ass ingredients that he wasn't going to buy entire containers of for it to go bad on the shelf because they used it once and then never so much as looked at it again for the next three months. And he wasn't so good at remembering what they already had. He usually just looked in the cupboards and fridge and was sort of surprised at what was there.

But he and Dad had an agreement. Stiles did the grocery shopping, and Dad hassled with the garbage and recycling. Everything else, like cleaning, cooking, yard work, and laundry, they traded off. It was easier for Stiles to do the shopping anyway because he had a more regular schedule. Other than the attacks by kanimas and rogue alphas and rushing around showing up at crime scenes and nearly getting killed. Stiles had maybe put this run off a little too long. They were out of canned tuna and minute rice, for god's sake, and that? That never happened. That was scraping the back of the cupboards right there. But it wasn't his fault, okay? Derek had been especially horny after having his Pass to Stiles' Ass suspended for a week, even though he still very much had a pass to the rest of his body, which he'd made good use of, and well, every time Stiles was near a surface that was sturdy enough to hold up under their combined weight and the force of Derek's thrusting, Derek wasn't one to let an opportunity pass him by. Stiles' ass was very pleasantly sore. But not in a bad way. Because when you set a sex-related boundary with Derek, he did not cross it. Ever.

Stiles was trying to remember which of the off-brand corn chips tasted like basement while he fished on the top shelf for the last bag of potato chips. Lays. Because you did not get any potato chips other than Lays. And of course, they were way at the back and even his freakishly long arms and fingers couldn't reach them.

"Need a hand?"

Stiles jumped so hard that he fell off the shelves he was climbing on and crashed into the speaker. Which just happened to be Allison's creepy dad. Great. What the hell did he want? Other than to show off that he was like, six-foot-four. Mr. Argent reached up and just pulled the bag of chips down like it was nothing while Stiles regained his balance and tried for his dignity as well. Maybe, if he faked it hard enough, someone would be fooled. Nah, probably not.

"Thanks."

"That's an interesting collection of bruises you've got," Argent said. 

Shit sticks. Stiles needed to start wearing extra long shirts and pinning the hems to his jeans or something. This was getting ridiculous. Also, the hand prints were fading anyway. Actually, no, they weren't. They'd been fading, but now the activities that had put them there were back on the table, figuratively, not literally unless you counted the coffee table, and so the bruises were back in full force. Seriously. Long shirts. That was going on the shopping list like yesterday.

"Yes, I'm sure you're a connisseur of fine bruising," Stiles said, "but mine aren't for sale, and that's not up for discussion."

"Based on the size and the deepness of the marks, I'd say they were made by an adult male. A very strong one."

"Not necessarily. I'll have you know that I bruise like a peach. A delicate, tree-ripened Georgia peach. And my milky, eastern european complexion shows every mark to the greatest possible advantage. And I could be into beefy ladies. With strap-ons."

"Is it Hale, or one of his betas? I'd have assumed Scott, but he's out of town."

"Okay, first of all, Scott is head over heels for your daughter and he would never, ever in a million years cheat on her, not even with me. Although, he probably does love me enough to set aside his heterosexuality and try something with me if I really, really begged and was serious about it. Just not while he was dating Alli. And second of all, the fact that you're thinking about my sex life in any context is astoundingly creep-tastic, and if you're going to do it, at least have the good manners not to speculate in front of my face."

"Well, this sounds like an interesting conversation." And that was Peter fucking Hale. What the hell was Stile's life? The two creepiest men he knew for sure were alive had to corner him while he was already doing something he disliked intensely and interrogate him about the hot, hot sex he was having with a man whom one or both of them was actively trying to kill and who was actually blood-related to one of them.

"Go crawl back in your hole and die, Peter," Stiles said.

"I'd rather stay here and speculate about your sex life."

"Just when I think you couldn't possibly be any more disturbing, you one up yourself," Stiles said, "That's pretty impressive, man. I gotta hand it to you." 

"I feel like there were at least three sexual innuendos in there," Peter said, "I might have to hand it to you."

"Oh, gross, dude. Don't say shit like that. That is disturbing on so many levels."

"You're not my type, Stiles. As delightful and clever as you may be, you're missing a few of my favorite parts."

"I'm okay with that."

"And I'm trying to figure out which of the beta's favorite parts he's missing," Mr. Argent said. Stiles had been hoping the sheer repulsiveness of Peter would drive him away, but no such luck.

"Oh, well, that's easy," Peter said, "All of Boyd's, none of Erica's, and I couldn't really say about Lahey. Jackson may not mind his parts, but he's already got one gorgeous genius emasculating him. I don't think he could handle a second. As for Scott, well, it's hard to say what he would and wouldn't be interested in doing to this one. If you're wondering who he's actually fucking, though, I wouldn't be concentrating on the betas. My nephew would never let a pair of thighs and an ass like that go to waste on a beta. Not to mention all that creamy skin."

This had to be payback for something. Maybe, for setting him on fire? To be fair, he'd been trying to kill Stiles and his best friend. And before that, he'd tried to get Stiles' best friend to kill Stiles and had brutally attacked the girl of Stiles' dreams. Setting Peter on fire wasn't that unreasonable a reaction to that level of dickery.

"Dude, stop talking about my ass. It's even creepier coming from you than from him." Stiles jerked his thumb towards Mr. Argent.

A second later, Peter had Stiles' t-shirt rucked up under his armpits and was staring contemplatively at his abs. Stiles shoved his hands away and stepped out of reach, bumping into his shopping cart. God damn it. He was caged in.

"What the hell, man?" he said, "When did this turn into sexual harassment hour? I'm serious, dude. Fuck off right now, or I will pull out the rape whistle my dad gave me, and I know you've got sensitive ears."

"I'll bet you've got a matching set on your thighs," Peter said, unperturbed. Stiles had two sets on his thighs, but he wasn't about to admit that in pubic.

"Keep your hands off him, Hale," Mr. Argent said, "I've got something scarier than a rape whistle in my pocket."

"Fine, fine. I'll leave you two to finish your conversation." And then Peter left as if he hadn't just taken a shit all over Stiles' already awful day. There was no way to avoid Argent drawing the correct conclusions now. 

"So, Derek, then?" Argent looked speculative and a little too happy with the proceedings. "Does your father know you're involved with a man who's six years older than you?"

Oh, good lord, this was not going to end well.


	7. Melissa

Melissa was saving so much money on groceries with Scott out of the house this summer. She wasn't sure if it was a werewolf thing or just a teenage boy thing, but she hadn't realized until he was down in Baja with Katrina just how much he ate. She should probably send Kati a big fat check along with the thank you gift she was getting for doing this on such short notice. Melissa felt bad for imposing, but Kati insisted that Scott was making himself helpful with chores and looking after the kids, and after that fight, something had to be done. Stiles had been as good as his word in getting Derek and his little minions to leave her son alone, but Melissa wasn't sure how long it would last, and she wanted Scott to have time to relax and have fun this summer. The school year had been so hard with him being bitten and Peter killing people and whatever had been going on with that Whittemore boy and the ups and downs of his relationship with Allison. He should get a break. A proper break.

Speaking of Derek's minions, there was one of them now. Isaac Lahey. The one whose father had been beating him. He looked up from his basket of groceries and right at her. That was a little creepy. 

She smiled. "Hi, Isaac."

"Hi, Mrs. McCall."

"Are you here alone?"

"Derek's teaching Boyd and Erica how to parallel park, and I was getting car sick from all the starting and stopping, so I came inside."

Wow, and that did not match up at all with the mental image she had of the scruffy, angry young man she'd seen with Scott a few times. 

"He's letting them drive his fancy car?" she asked.

Isaac smirked. "No, they both suck at driving a stick. He got a second car that's an automatic. For the pack to use."

"Oh." Derek got another car just so his betas would have something to drive around?

"It's not fancy like his Camero," Isaac said, "He says it's good to be inconspicuous sometimes."

"Do you drive?" she asked, but Isaac was distracted now, looking over at the chips and cookies aisle. And he was tensing up. 

She looked over. Stiles was there with a half-filled cart, talking to someone, she couldn't tell who from the back, but he looked like he'd rather be anywhere else. Why was Isaac interested in that? Was he following Stiles? It was hard to imagine Derek teaching teenagers how to park a car. Maybe, that wasn't what he was actually doing here. And Scott wasn't here to stand up for Stiles. She looked back at Isaac to see him setting his basket hastily on top of the bags of frozen chicken breasts and typing something on his phone.

"I need to take care of something, Mrs. McCall," he said, touching her lightly on the arm as he moved past, "Maybe, stay out of the frozen dairy section for like ten minutes, okay?"

Melissa watched, perplexed, as he made a beeline for the frozen pizzas, grabbed two of them off the shelf, and and then headed over towards Stiles and the guy he was talking to. What was he doing? She trailed behind him and stopped close enough to hear what was going on.

"Stiles," Isaac called, waving the pizzas at him, "Look what I found."

And then he wedged himself into the inappropriately small amount of space between Stiles and the man she now recognized as Chris Argent and plastered himself against Stiles' back, bringing his arms around him like a hug so that the pizzas were in front of him.

"Look," Isaac said, dropping a quick peck on Stiles' mouth, which Stiles accepted like it was the most normal thing in the world, "It's like a combination of meat lovers and veggie pizza, so you could get your dad to eat his vegetables, and he couldn't complain about no meat."

"Okay," Stiles said, "That's cool, but why are you also holding a Hawaiian? That shit is an abomination onto Nuggin. You do not put pineapple on a pizza, man. Put that back."

"But I love Hawaiian," Isaac whined, tossing both pizzas into the cart, "Also, Derek said to tell you that there's no point in making your dad eat that fake bacon crap if you're going to let him eat full-fat ice cream. So, he's getting frozen yogurt instead."

Stiles' eyed bugged out, and Melissa couldn't tell if it was an honest reaction or faked.

"What?!" he shrieked, "In what universe is chocolate froyo the same thing as chocolate ice cream? Do they even make chocolate froyo?"

"He's not getting chocolate," Isaac said, "He's getting blackberry. He says your dad loves blackberries."

"That's not the point! Dude, that's not the point. The point is that chocolate ice cream is the nectar of the gods, and my dad spends his days saving the city from drunk drivers and public urination and home invasions, and he deserves a reasonably-sized bowl of nectar. I am not subjecting him to sub-par nectar. Blackberry froyo is the nectar of the rent-a-cops who work in malls. Derek! You will not perpetrate this abomination, you obsidian-browed neanderthal." Stiles started toward the frozen dairy department and then came to a screeching halt. "You know what? Fuck this. If he's getting froyo, I'm getting fruit-by-the-foots."

He started to turn his cart, stopped, turned back toward frozen dairy, stopped, and then did it again.

"Isaac, go get me fruit-by-the-foots. Like at least two boxes of them. Derek!"

Isaac grinned and kissed Stiles again, like a boyfriend would, purposely bumping against Mr. Argent as he left to go do Stiles' bidding. Stiles stormed off towards the frozen dairy section and Melissa followed because she couldn't not. She had to know how this played out. This was surreal on a level she hadn't encountered before. 

"Derek," Stiles shouted as he walked, "Don't you dare get fruit-filled yogurt instead of chocolate ice cream. Who taught you how to shop? You do not healthify your junk food, you rationalize it. You don't get froyo when you want ice cream. That's what chumps and amateurs do. You get the chocolate ice cream with the chunks of almonds in it. Almonds are nuts, and nuts have protein and are therefore healthy. That is how it's done. Now, step aside and let the experts handle this."

When they got to the frozen dairy section, Derek Hale was standing in front of the froyo holding two containers, one of blackberry froyo, and one of chocolate ice cream. Melissa watched Stiles march up, still berating the man about his inability to buy junk food, snatch both containers, and shove the froyo back on the shelf and the ice cream in his cart. Derek just stared at him with a look on his face that reminded her uncomfortably of the ones Raf used to shoot her way at the beginning of their marriage. That was not the expression of a man who, by Scott's account, wanted to strangle Stiles every time the kid opened his mouth. That was the expression of a man who wasn't sure exactly how he'd gotten this lucky, but he wasn't going to be the one to mess it up. And he was letting Stiles rant about partial proteins, sugars, and healthy fats, and the only people she knew who loved Stiles enough and had the patience to sit through his convoluted rambling were her son and Noah Stilinski. Melissa loved Stiles, but after a while, her head started to spin and she had to cut him off. He never minded, but she knew it took a special kind of affection to just let him talk and talk and talk like that.

Stiles continuted to rant until Isaac reappeared, smirking and carrying three boxes of what she assumed were fruit-by-the foots. He dumped them in the cart and looked up at Derek with an expression so vulnerable and hopeful that it made her mother's heart lurch. Derek gave him what she could only call a pleased, paternal grin and clapped him on the shoulder. 

Stiles clamped his arms around Isaac's waist in a tight hug.

"Isaac," he said, "You are my hero. You are the love of my life, and to prove how much I love you, I will buy you your nasty pizza and your fruit-by-the-foots. You deserve all the fruit-by-the-foots. Because that was some first-rate ass saving right there. I have never been more relieved to be kissed in front of my best bro's girlfriend's terrifying dad in my entire life."

Isaac patted Stiles on the head awkwardly, alternating between looking happy and glancing at Derek like he wasn't sure if the guy was going to be angry about this or not. Derek just grabbed the back of Stiles' shirt and pulled him off the kid. Then he took the boxes of fruit-by-the-foots out of the cart.

"Are there any more of these on the shelf?" he asked, and Isaac immediately looked down at his shoes. 

"Yeah, I didn't take all of them. I'm not that dumb."

"Go get the rest of them and meet me at the checkout," Derek said.

Isaac's head came up, hopeful, eager expression back in place. "Really?"

"Yep, clean 'em out."

Isaac grinned and jogged off, and Stiles and Derek watched him go.

"Oh, my god, you giant teddy bear," Stiles said.

"He deserves it. He did exactly what he should have done. He contacted me, he didn't get violent or threaten anybody, and he didn't draw attention to himself. It's literally everything I've been working on with him for the last four months. His pack instincts are naturally good, better than Erica and Boyd. He just needed to learn how to put them into action, and this was perfect."

"Fine, do your thing. You're his Alpha. I suppose you should get to reward him for being good at pack stuff. But I get to get him the pizza. It was my ass he just pulled out of the fire. Seriously, it was like the giant eagles saving the armies of gondor from the ringwraiths on those big leathery dragon things, only with more PDA."

Melissa watched them stare at one another for a long moment, doing a very poor job disguising their feelings. Speaking of inappropriate spacing between people. She wondered if she was going to need to call Noah and tell him his sixteen-year-old was making out in the super market with a twenty-something year old man he'd once accused of murder and had arrested, but then Derek was walking away, and Stiles was staring after him with a version of the look he'd been giving Lydia Martin since the third grade. Only more so. She might need to call his dad anyway and tell him to poke his nose into Stiles' love life a little just to make sure nothing more than intense staring was happening between those two. Maybe, she should see if Scott knew anything about it. He'd never mentioned it, but Scott was getting frighteningly better at keeping secrets ever since he'd been bitten by a werewolf, so he might know if something was going on.


	8. Scott

Scott was nervous for this skype date. Scott was never nervous for skyping with Stiles, but today he was. Because Mom had called him and asked if Stiles was dating Derek, or possibly Isaac Lahey, and that was super weird. And she'd asked Scott to poke around a little and make sure Stiles was okay and wasn't being harassed by the Argents or Derek's pack. Stiles would have told him if Derek was giving him a hard time. He had no problem complaining about the guy, but he might not say anything about the Argents because he knew how important Allison was to Scott and he wasn't going to make Scott feel bad about asking him to bring her flowers and shit. Even if he should. Because Stiles loved him, man. Stiles would brave the gauntlet of Chris Argent's pants-wettingly scary, barely-veiled threats and his guns to deliver the symbols of Scott's undying love. He might complain about the minor annoyances related to it, like the flowers stinking up his car or having to try and pick out the right chocolates, but he would never, ever complain about something serious that would make Scott feel like he couldn't ask Stiles to keep doing it.

And Scott was maybe a little more concerned about the dating Isaac or Derek thing than he was admitting to himself. Because Stiles hadn't said anything yet, but he sometimes stared a little too long and a little too hard at guy's abs and asses and hands for it not to have something to do with attraction. And he'd seen some of the looks Stiles gave Derek, okay? He'd picked up on a few scents coming off him when he looked at the guy that usually came off him when he looked at Lydia. At the very least, Stiles had the beginnings of a crush. Not a serious one, maybe, since when Stiles had a serious crush, he brought it up a lot, even when he didn't mean to. But a minor crush, yeah. Stiles probably had a minor crush on Derek, and it could have developed into something bigger that Stiles was making himself keep quiet about. 

Because Stiles also knew that Scott had been pretty pissed at Derek when he'd left Beacon Hills. Even though he'd talked Scott around to realizing that the shit that had gone down initially was Peter's fault, not Derek's, and that Derek could be forgiven for not knowing what the hell he was doing or how to be a friend or a leader even if he'd really been an ass about trying to recruit Scott and withholding information, Stiles might not tell Scott if the crush had developed into something more, especially if it was reciprocated and had turned into an actual relationship. Because Stiles wasn't going to be disloyal to Scott, okay? He wasn't. He'd stuck by Scott even when Scott had been so gone on Alli that he hadn't been willing to admit she was maybe flying off the handle, and he'd stuck by Scott even after he left him out of the Gerard Argent plan. Although, it had been Deaton's idea not to tell Stiles, not Scott's, and he hadn't been able to argue with his reasoning. Still, though, it had felt wrong from the get-go, and Stiles had been really hurt by it, and Scott should have trusted his damned instincts. And Gerard had beaten Stiles up, and that was kind of Scott's fault too, but Stiles had forgiven him and stuck by him because Stiles was the best.

If Stiles was somehow either majorly crushing on Derek or Isaac, or even actually dating one of them, then Scott was going to get the hell over it and be supportive. Even if he found it baffling and maybe a little worrying, because he didn't know if either of the two of the would do something mean like date Stiles just to get to Scott to join the pack. Derek had been willing to order Erica to throw herself at Scott to try and drag him in, and there was the whole business with her claiming to have had a crush on Stiles and then hitting him on the head with a car part and dumping him in the trash. So, it was kind of a possibility, even if it wasn't, as Stiles would say, a probability, and Scott didn't want Stiles to get hurt. 

And he really hoped that wasn't the case, because he was starting to think maybe being a part of the pack wouldn't be such a bad idea. He'd had a couple of weird episodes down here at the quarter-moon and the three-quarter moon, and he didn't even want to think about the half-moon, and Derek probably knew what was going on and how to control it. And honestly, it would be nice to have people to interact with where he didn't have to constantly be worrying about touching or squeezing or pushing too hard or moving too fast. They would understand why he couldn't use the bathrooms at the school anymore or why passing by the janitor's closet or the chemistry locker gave him a wicked headache. And he was pretty sure there were at least three hunters in town down here and all of them were keeping close tabs on him. Having someone to make sure he didn't get killed or Aunt Katrina and his cousins didn't get attacked would be a good thing. And sometimes Stiles said things offhand that made him think maybe Derek was chilling out a little. Being pack wouldn't be so bad if Derek was less of a fascist hard-ass and a control-freak. 

But Scott had to ask about whether or not Stiles had been kissing one of them in the grocery store, and that could go horribly wrong if Stiles got defensive. So, nervous.

He hit the video chat button and waited while it blooped at him. Stiles picked up on the second bloop, grinning and waving like an idiot.

"Scotty! Hey, bro, how's the beach?"

"It's great. I taught Diego how to snorkle. You should have seen him. It was so cute. The snorkle is like as tall as he is, and half the time he only leans down and sticks his face about four inches into the water, so it sticks up way over his head, but he's so proud of himself for being able to breathe with his face underwater. It's so cute."

Stiles laughed. "You gotta send more pictures, man."

"I actually haven't taken very many. I've just been so caught up in the middle of it all happening. I never really reach for my phone until I'm not with them. The kids are great."

"Hey, yeah, that's totally understandable. No point in watching through a phone camera when you can be a part of it, right?"

"Right on. I've got this weird rash though. I think there was something in the water. No one else seems to have it, but I went out surfing a few times and that was farther out than the rest of them went."

"Can werewolves get rashes?" Stiles looked fascinated and perplexed.

"Apparently."

"Let me see."

He wiggled onto his knees and pulled up his shirt so that Stiles could see the blotches of reddish-purple spots on his side. He'd been wearing a tank-top to hide it from his cousins, claimed it was because he was sick of putting sunscreen on that much of himself every day and it was easier to just wear a shirt.

"That doesn't look too bad," Stiles said as Scott lay back down, "Does it hurt?"

"A little. Itches, mostly. I've tried aloe vera and bacitracin, but they didn't do anything."

"Is it getting better or worse? Your aunt might now about it. Don't they go down to that beach every year?"

"It's getting better, just slowly, and I asked her about rashes right after it happened and she said they'd never gotten anything. I told her I saw a guy on the beach with a rash, and she said it was probably an STD. Hey, I've got to ask you something for my mom." 

Worst transition ever, and Stiles was going to know the mental connection was the STD thing, but Scott needed to get this over with.

"Wouldn't it be easier for her just to ask me herself? Dad and I have dinner with her like once a week."

"I'm not supposed to tell you she's the one asking, but I'm not sure how she wanted me to do that because she said she saw you kissing Isaac in the grocery store and wants to know if you're dating him."

"What? Oh god, no. I mean, we did kiss, but I'm not dating him. She saw that? Did she also happen to see Peter sexually harrass me?"

"Okay, what?"

Stiles took a deep breath. "Okay. I was grocery shopping. Minding my own business, trying to get potato chips of the top shelf, when all of a sudden, out of nowhere, Chris Argent appears and starts asking me all kinds of questions about my pack affiliations. So, I told him to shove it, and then Peter shows up and starts talking about my thighs. My thighs, Scott! He was talking about my thighs and my ass and my creamy skin, and then he pushed up my shirt to stare at my abs and talk about how I was missing his favorite body parts. It was so unbelievaby gross. I mean, seriously. I think I showered about four times when I got home, and I still didn't feel clean. Anyway, Argent threatens him, and Peter leaves, and Argent goes right back to asking questions like I didn't just get bad-touched by the creepiest creeperwolf ever to creep, and all of a sudden, there's Isaac. He comes out of nowhere, waving pizzas and talking about how Derek's buying blackberry froyo for Dad instead of chocolate ice cream."

"What? In what universe is blackberry froyo a suitable replacement for chocolate ice cream?"

"Right? That's exactly what I said. And anyway, Argent still wasn't backing off, so Isaac kissed me and maybe felt me up a little until Argent couldn't reasonably stay and watch two teenage boys make out without getting the cops called on him, and then Isaac left to go get fruit-by-the-foots and I went to go stop Derek from getting froyo instead of real ice cream."

"And Derek was actually there?"

"Yeah, he bought Isaac like twelve boxes of fruit-by-the-foots."

"Why?" Scott asked.

"Because Isaac loves them. And I bought him a Hawaiian pizza as a thank you."

"Gross."

"Right? So nasty. But while we're talking about this, I should probably tell you that I'm bi."

"What does Hawaiian pizza have to- oh. Right, the kissing."

"Yeah." Stiles looked down and Scott was sure he was picking nervously at something. "I've kind of known for a while. I just wasn't ready to say anything."

"Hey, it's okay, man," Scott said, "No rush. No pressure. Take whatever time you need. I'm just glad you told me. Now I can start teasing you about cute boys instead of just about Lydia."

Scott sometimes wished Stiles would get over his crush on Lydia. She never saw him for how great he really was, and there were a lot of people who would if he gave them a chance. And Stiles deserved that, okay? Because Stiles was awesome. If Scott was even a little bit into guys and not completely into Allison, he would so be all up in that. Like yesterday. More people just needed to get their heads out of their asses and realize what they were missing out on.

"Thanks," Stiles said.

"Have you told your dad?"

"Still working on that."

"You know he's not going to be mad or anything, right?"

"Yeah, but I kind of tried to tell him I was gay in order to get out of trouble for being at a crime scene during the whole Jackson thing, and I don't want him to think that's what this is."

"Wow, yeah, I can see how that would make you nervous."

Stiles gave him the little half-smile he did when he was genuinely worried and Scott had said something that made him feel less like an awkward idiot for being so worked up.

"Stiles, I'm going to go pick up Isaac from work. Do you need anything from the store while I'm out?"

What the shit? That was not Stiles' dad. That was Derek. What was he doing in Stiles' house asking if he could get him anything from the store? Was this why Argent had been asking about Stiles' pack affiliations?

Derek's head appeared by Stiles' on the screen. His beard was a little thicker, and his hair wasn't styled, and he had a relaxed, easy smile on his face. Stiles was kind of staring at him with an expression that was half horrified, half completely lovestruck. Called it.

"Hi, Scott," Derek said, "How's Baja?"

"Baja's fine." Scott wanted to ask what the hell he was doing in Stiles' room, but he restrained himself. Stiles could explain.

"So, I got a message from a family of hunters down there," Derek said, "the Calaveras, asking about you, and I told them you were one of mine. If they ask, you should say that too. This isn't me trying to make you join the pack. That's your decision, and I'm not going to push you anymore. I shouldn't have been that much of an ass to begin with. But the Calaveras are pretty extreme. More so even than the Argents. Allison's mom, Victoria, she was a Calavera before she married Chris. If they knew you didn't have an alpha, they would kill you on the spot, even though you're stable on your own and haven't hurt anyone. So, yeah. Just tell them you're mine. I won't hold you to it when you get back if it's not what you actually want."

"Okay?" Scott said.

"Alright, I gotta go get Isaac. Bye, Scott." Derek disappeared from the screen, but Stiles grabbed his arm before he could leave.

"Wait," Stiles said and turned back to Scott, "Ask him about the rash. He might know what it is."

Derek's head reappeared, and his eyebrows went up in question.

"I went surfing, and now I have an itchy rash on my side," Scott said, "It's been there a couple of days."

"You wouldn't happen to be near El Bajio, would you?"

"Yeah."

"It's naiads. They get a little territorial when other supernatural things show up in their waters. It's nothing to worry about. They're not very aggressive or very dangerous. There's some sort of offering you can bring them to let them know you're not a threat, but I don't remember off the top of my head what it is. I can look it up and tell Stiles, and he can tell you."

"Okay."

"And the rash will go away on its own, but if it bothers you, mix crushed carroway seeds into some sort of oil, like baby oil or olive oil, and rub it on. Let it sit for about fifteen minutes, and you should be good to go. And wear some sort of water-proof sunscreen if you go in their waters without the offering. You just need a coat of something to keep the toxins from getting on your skin."

"Okay, thanks." Then Derek was gone and Stiles was staring after him with a look on his face like Derek was the most wonderful thing that had ever walked through his door. Scott knew that look. It was how he looked at Allison most of the time. This might be more serious than Lydia.

"Stiles."

"Right, right, sorry. I just thought he might know what was going on."

"Yeah, no. I'm not mad about that, and he was pretty chill. And I have spotted a couple of people I thought might be hunters. I was going to have you ask him about them anyway. I'm more curious as to why he was in your house, why he was offering to get you something from the store while he was out, and why he was coming back after he picked up Isaac. Also, is he bringing Isaac back with him?"

"No, he's dropping him off at Erica's. He and Boyd are sleeping over. I think they're going to marathon the Twilight movies because Erica is fully Team Edward, and they like to make fun of the werewolves. And Derek refuses to sit through those movies again."

"Did you just say again?" Scott asked.

"Yep."

"Why did he watch them the first time?"

"Scott, when are you going to accept the fact that Derek is an angsty, hormonal thirteen-year-old girl way deep down under that leather jacket and all those muscles?"

Scott laughed so hard his ribs hurt.

"No seriously," he said when he calmed down, "Why?"

"Because Erica wanted a Twilight-themed birthday party."

"You're kidding."

"I shit you not, man," Stiles said, "She asked for one. Blinked her enormous brown cow eyes at him and asked for a Twilight birthday, and the next thing I know, he shows up at my door asking how in hell you plan a birthday party for a teenage girl and what the hell is Twilight. So, I made him read the books, which he did in like ten hours, and then he bitched for like a day straight about how terrible they are, and then we watched the movies, and he wouldn't speak to me for like three days. Then he got over himself and dragged me to a million stores to get supplies, like I've ever in my life thrown a party, but I suppose Lydia's not around and I did once go to one of hers, which is more than everyone else he knows except for Allison, who he would never speak to voluntarily, can say. So yeah, I ended up googling how to throw a Twilight-themed birthday party for a teenage werewolf and Derek let Erica invite like eight terrible girls from school over to his loft for a sleepover while he and Isaac crashed in my living-room."

"Do you hang out with them a lot?"

"Probably not as much as it sounds like, but ever since Derek's sort of stopped being the most colossal bag of dicks ever to drop in my lap, I see them more and more. You're out of town, and other than you and Alli, whose Dad keeps signing her up for summer camps that keep her as far away from me as possible and hopefully from thinking about her mom, they're the only people who ever have any interest in hanging out with me in any capacity, friendly or packly or not. I practiced Lacrosse with Danny once, but we're not really friends, and he's got his own people."

"But you see Derek a lot. More than the rest of them." Scott was pretty sure he could pry right now without Stiles shutting down on him.

"Yeah."

"And that's why he was offering to pick up groceries for you." Somehow, Stiles seemed to be missing the weirdness of that statement. Or else he was being intentionally obtuse because he didn't want to talk about it.

"I should tell him to get laundry detergent. I spilled it all over the floor yesterday, and Dad will kill me if I try to skip my turn again." Stiles pulled out his phone and tapped out a quick message. Definitely being obtuse. Okay, groceries was too much.

"He knows what kind of laundry soap you use?" Scott asked.

"I don't know." Stiles shrugged. "He can probably tell by scent. Can you?"

"I... never tried," Scott said. He could tell Stiles was deflecting him, changing the subject. Something was going on with him and Derek, and he didn't think it was just Stiles' massive crush on the guy. But Stiles wasn't willing to talk about it yet, and he wasn't twitchy enough or exhausted enough for it to be dangerous.

"Well, if he can do it, I'm sure you can."

"Hey, what do you think a naiad looks like?" Scott asked. Because as long as Stiles wasn't in any sort of danger, he could give him his space to figure out how to tell Scott what was going on, and besides, he'd be back in less than a month. He could figure it out then if he had to.


	9. Noah

If one more person asked him why his son was making out with Isaac Lahey in the supermarket, Noah was going to pull his service revolver on them. He hadn't had time to get home and ask his son if the person giving him all those hickeys and really obvious sex bruises that did not come from a woman was the same one he'd apparently been kissing in the grocery store. He suspected the answer was no, because while Stiles had been spending more time with the Lahey kid since Scott had gone to Mexico, he had never once seen an ounce of evidence that Stiles was attracted to him. No, there was most likely someone else, and his son had not told him about them. To be fair, he had shot Stiles down pretty hard that night after the incident at that rave, but he knew his son. Stiles had not been serious. He'd been trying to get out of trouble by distracting him from the real issue. And now that he actually was messing around with a guy, he hadn't said a damned word. Typical.

But Stiles wasn't as sneaky as he liked to think, and Noah was the Sheriff. It was his job to notice things and investigate. There were almost always two plates and cups per meal in the drain-rack instead of one. The couch cushions smelled like cologne that definitely wasn't his or Stiles', and he'd smelled the same cologne on Stiles' sheets more than once. Along with the smell of lube, sweat, and cum. And Stiles, who was trying to hide this relationship or whatever it was, had fallen asleep more than once stretched out over the couch with all the love bites and hand shaped bruises whoever was doing unspeakable things to him had left behind fully on display. And then there had been the couple of weeks where Stiles never sat ever, only stood or lay down, and that was more than Noah could handle thinking about. He'd just bought about six boxes of condoms and a lot of lube and hid them in various places in Stiles' room so maybe Stiles would think he'd bought them and forgot about them.

Now, though, he had neighbors and nosy citizens asking him questions he didn't know the answers to and he couldn't wait for his son to come talk to him on his own. He had to ask, and then he'd have to either try to talk Stiles in circles until he got tired and gave in or try to parse the truth from whatever convoluted answer came his way. Or maybe, he'd get lucky and Stiles would have one of his rare moments where he just told him what the hell was going on. They needed one of those pretty badly right now. Stiles had been lying to him since the start of school last year, and it was about something pretty dangerous. He'd like to know the truth about that too, but for now, he'd settle with his son maybe coming out as gay or bi or whatever he was and hopefully telling him who he was shacking up with.

Then he could run a thorough background check and maybe pull the guy over for a shovel talk.

Dinner was on the table when he got home, still hot in the pans, and Stiles was watching a nature channel show on lions and hyenas. It smelled like chicken and rice. Stiles had about seven recipes he usually rotated through when it was his turn to cook. Three were noodle-based, two were rice, one was potatoes, and the last was pizza. Real homemade pizza. He didn't make that often because frozen was easier, but he pulled it out on special occasions. Sometimes, he'd get a notion in his head and make something from a recipe book, but that only happened when he had a craving or was exceptionally bored. And he was having sex now. So, boredom probably wasn't an issue.

"I'm home," Noah called as he hung his jacket in the closet.

"Hey, Dad," Stiles called back.

"I'm gonna go wash up quick, and then we should talk."

Stiles' face got the closed off look that statement always brought, but it was better to warn him than not. Experience had taught Noah that. A Stiles under unexpected fire was a lot more dangerous than one who felt he had a little time to shore up his defenses and batton down the hatches. You did not ambush Stiles emotionally unless you wanted to be flayed alive and eaten for dinner.

"Okay, sure," Stiles said.

Noah smiled at him reassuringly so he knew he wasn't in trouble, but he knew that wouldn't register until probably halfway through their conversation. Right now, Stiles was mentally dissecting each and every action he'd taken since their last serious talk to figure out which this was likely about, what he was willing to cop to, and how to approach talking about it so he didn't give anything away that he didn't plan on. He wondered briefly what it would be like to have a son who wasn't smarter than him, but he would never exchange Stiles' brains for an easier time parenting. Stiles was a damned good kid, and he was special in a way most people were too distracted by his twitchiness and inappropriate rants to see. If that meant a harder time than most keeping him safe and out of trouble, well, it was worth it. 

He could see Stiles shifting into combat mode even as he shoveled food onto his plate and started eating. Eating was a good sign. When he was really gearing up for a blow-out, Stiles didn't touch his food except to push it around his plate. He liked to fight on an empty stomach.

"I know I was dismissive when you tried to tell me you were gay, but you were doing it to get out of trouble," Noah said, jumping right in, "If you actually are, I don't have a problem with it. Either way, I'd like to know if you were really making out with that Lahey kid in the crackers aisle."

Stiles' shoulders relaxed incrementally. That was good.

"I wasn't making out with him. We kissed twice. That's it. There was an older guy in there hitting on me, and he was being pretty pushy. Wouldn't take no for an answer. Isaac was just trying to get him to go away without having to throw punches or anything. That's why there's a hawaiian pizza in the freezer, by the way. I bought it for him as a thank you. I haven't gone over to the dark side or anything."

"So, you're not dating him?" They were going to circle back to that creep in the market, but he needed to chase down the Lahey lead first. 

"No. God, no. Isaac's... I'm not into him."

"But there is somebody?" Noah tried hard not to think about the person who'd mentioned seeing Stiles in the frozen dairy section making googly eyes with Derek Hale.

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Dad, come on. I can't get anyone to look at me twice when school's in session and they're literally forced into proximity with me. You think it's going to happen when they're spread out and have infinite avenues of escape?"

An eye roll and a self-deprecating evasion. He was hiding something.

"So you're the one giving yourself all those hickeys?"

"I told you. They're--" 

"Hickeys, Stiles. I know what they look like. I've had a few in my life. I've given a few in my life."

"Gross."

"What, you think it's fun for me to see my son looking like he got attacked by a vampire?" he asked, "You're old enough to make decisions about your own body, Stiles. If you want to have a boyfriend or a girlfriend and have sex with them, that's your call. I just want to make sure you're safe and protected and happy, and I'd like to meet them at some point. It's been more than a month. You can't bring them by even once to introduce them to your old man?"

Stiles blushed red to the roots of his hair. "It's not going to be a long-term sort of thing. It's just this guy. He's cousins with a kid from school, and he's only here for part of the summer. We're kind of... fooling around while he's here. Neither of us wanted something serious. I mean, I only figured out a little while ago that guys were a thing for me. Girls are too, for the record. But we're not- it's not- I don't want the first person I bring home to meet you to be a casual fling with an expiration date already on the package."

Some part of that was a lie, and he suspected it was the part about not wanting it to be serious. Stiles was not casual about the people he cared for, and if he didn't care for you, he didn't let himself be vulnerable with you. And sex was a whole lot of vulnerable. He had a feeling he was going to be dealing with some emotional outbursts in a month or two when this whole thing ended.

"So, what's his name?"

"Dad, I am not going to tell you his name so you can background check him and then pull him over and intimidate him. And anyway I background checked him before I agreed to anything, okay? I'm also not interested in me getting up close and personal with a serial killer."

Yep, that was his son. Noah grinned into his bite of chicken.

"So, let's talk about that creep in the grocery store."


	10. Stiles

Stiles volunteered to pick Scott up from the airport. It'd give him two hours in the car to explain exactly why he smelled like sex with Derek and for Scott to calm down and process the news. He'd wanted to hold off on him finding out until he'd had time to settle back in at home, but Isaac, Erica, and Boyd said flat-out that no amount of showering and axe body spray would cover up the smell of Derek's cum on him anymore, so Stiles was just going to hit him with the news as soon as he arrived and hang on for the aftershocks. They had their story all lined up. It wasn't too much of a variation on the truth, even, and Stiles had practiced saying it with Derek until his heartrate didn't change like he was lying. And then they'd had more sex, because Derek was so damned hot when he was using his wolfy powers that Stiles had to jump him right then and there. And Derek had practiced it with Isaac since Stiles didn't have wolfy powers, but there had been no sex involved in that. 

He was pretty sure Scott had an idea that he was into Derek. Actually, he was very sure of it, because Scott had been asking some very pointed questions, and that wasn't something he did unless he thought Stiles was withholding important, personal information from him. But he didn't think Scott knew Derek liked him back. Scott had asked for Derek's phone number and had texted him a few times with questions about quarter moons down in Mexico and if that should affect his behavior, but since Stiles was usually with Derek when he got the texts and coached him through how to phrase his responses, he felt like he'd know if Scott had been asking about him. Unless Scott had called while Stiles wasn't around. He was tempted to call Derek and ask, but he didn't.

Scott was already at the baggage claim by the time Stiles had parked Roscoe and found his way through the labyrinth of the parking garage to the carousels. Stiles bounded up behind him and threw himself onto Scott's back, clinging like a panda.

"Scotty! My brother from another mother. And father. I've been wasting away here without you. How could you leave me like that? Don't you love me? Don't you love me, Scotty?"

Scott didn't even stagger under Stiles' weight, just walked over to pull his giant suit case from the moving belt like it weighed nothing.

"Hey, Stiles," he said, walking towards the door out to the parking ramp with Stiles still on his back, "Did you miss me?"

People were staring, but he didn't care. Scott was home.

"Nah." Stiles pointed to the left as they went out the door. "I'm over that way, up like five levels. Hey, how long can you carry me like this?"

"You're not that heavy, dude. Maybe, you should eat more."

"Hey, I have a girlish figure to maintain."

"Yeah, whose is it?"

"Haven't asked her name. I just feed her."

"Dude, did you get a pet? You don't smell like a- wait." Scott came to a dead stop and sniffed Stiles' arms suspiciously. Then he reached back and hauled him straight over his head so he could sniff Stiles' chest, shoulders, and neck while Stiles scrambled to get his feet on the ground.

"Oh, my god, dude! What the hell?" Scott yelled, "Why do you smell like Derek's jizz? Oh, my god. It's so strong. What did you do? Use his cum as a moisturizer?"

Stiles burst out laughing. "Oh, man, that's hilarious. Wait 'til I tell Peter you said that. The best he could come up with was asking if I'd bathed in a tub of Derek's sweat. He's going to be pissed that he got out-done by you."

"You talk to Peter?"

"No, but I occasionally use Derek's phone to taunt him via text."

"Seriously, Stiles. Derek. Why do you smell like that?"

"We've kind of been... doing it," Stiles said, "A lot. Like a lot, a lot. Not as much now as we were at first, though. We've progressed to having conversations in between the rounds of sexy times instead of having sex in between sexy times. You know, for the emotional connection."

"How did this happen?"

"Well, after you beat the crap out of Boyd, I finally managed to convince Derek that you needed a cooling off period. You know, to get your head clear and shit. And then a few days later, he shows up at my house and tells me he likes me and wants to date me. On the down low, of course. Otherwise he'd get in trouble."

"Of course."

"And he's like hella hot, but I said no, I wouldn't date a guy who didn't respect my best friend and who couldn't take no for an answer. He said he did respect you, and that was why he wanted you in his pack so badly and that he could totally take no for an answer, and I said that wasn't what it looked like from my perspective, and I'd need a lot of hard evidence before I believed it. So, he backed off you, and kind of started focusing on making things better for his betas, and when I ran into him a while later, he asked again, and I said yes. And we've pretty much been having hot sex and making out in my bed ever since. And he comes over for at least one meal a day depending on what hours Dad works, and sometimes he brings some of his betas with him."

"So, you've been bonding with his pack."

"Mostly Derek and Isaac. Still not that close with Erica and Boyd."

"And antagonizing Peter."

"Hey, he talked about my thighs in public and lifted up my shirt. He deserves a lot worse than snarky comments from me. I did give my dad his description, though, and they've got it posted in the grocery store as a warning for nubile teenage boys. That was pretty funny. He was pissed. He has to shop in St. Clarence now."

"And you're having sex with Derek."

"Yep."

"Stiles. Sex. With Derek."

"Yeah, man. It's amazing. The other day, he did this thing with his tongue when he was blowing me. It was like a--"

"Aaah lalalalalalala. I don't want details, Stiles. Just... you're having sex with Derek."

"Tons of it."

"Isn't this kind of sudden?"

"What? No, dude. You and Allison were having sex like a month after you met. I've known Derek for almost a year. That's plenty of time for me to grow on him like a persistent fungus. And as aforementioned, he's stupidly hot."

"Yeah, but it seemed like he hated you."

"He may have at first, but like I said. Fungus. Also, I think at the end there, a lot of his hostility had to do with wanting to get into my pants and not being sure how to make it happen. He's been a lot more chilled out since he got access to regular Stilinski Love. Also, I got him to read like twenty books on how to be a leader, and I'm totally taking credit for any and all improvements he's made in that area. And I'm counting on you to assess him for me because I'm very close to the situation, and also, according to all the tests I took for you, you're a Born Leader."

"Well, he can't be any worse than he was, can he?"

"Not with me helping him. He like lives in a place that isn't burned down or a subway station and cooks actual meals several times a week, and he teaches the pack to do shit without breaking their bones or flashing his red hots at them. It's pretty awesome."

"What kind of stuff does he teach them?"

"Judo, apparently, and Capoeria, and I think he has them taking a Krav Maga class down at the community center. And they've been working on tracking and reading scents and how to hide from hunters. There've been some weird animal killings in a few parks and at the edge of the preserve. Derek's got them checking it out."

"Does he think it's something dangerous?"

"He doesn't know yet. We looked in Peter's beastiary, but there are a lot of things that kill critters, and Derek said he hasn't seen anything other than the bodies to give him a clue what it might be. At this point, I think he's leaning towards humans. Either a weirdo cult or someone trying their hand at witchcraft or teenagers being idiots. Dad's pretty much reached the same conclusion."

"Is witchcraft a thing? Like for real?"

"Derek said he wasn't sure, and the only other people I could ask are Peter and Dr. Deaton, and I don't want to ask Peter, and Deaton never answers any of my questions."

They reached Roscoe, and Stiles opened the back so Scott could shove his suitcase in. Stiles felt like it needed a name. Maybe a girl's name. He kind of liked Priscilla. Priscilla. This is Scott's suitcase, Priscilla. Scott, is Priscilla all packed? It's time to go. Yeah, that was good. He hopped into the driver seat and mentally cooed at Roscoe to start like the good little jeep he was. He was pretty sure Roscoe could hear him. They had a deep, telepathic connection.

"I could ask Deaton if you want," Scott said, "I have better luck with him."

Stiles had never said anything to Scott about Deaton refusing to get him mountain ash for his home. Deaton had Scott's back as far as he could tell, and as long as that was the case and Stiles knew where the cut-off was, i.e. Scott's back but not Stiles' back, he could work with that. He knew what he could and couldn't expect from the man. And he wasn't going to tell Scott because Deaton knew a lot of shit and could help him a ton. If Scott knew he didn't have Stiles' back too, rather than thinking it was a matter of luck or persuasiveness that Deaton helped one of them and not the other, he would drop the vet like a hot tomale. Because Scott loved him, okay? And you did not get to have Scott's back if you didn't also have his friends' backs.

"Sure," Stiles said, "I think I get on his nerves."

"He just needs to get to know you better."

Yeah, that was never going to happen. Stiles didn't invest his time and energy into people who didn't give a flying fuck about him. Unless they were Lydia Martin. Because she was a goddess, and someone needed to perceive and acknowledge the full extent of her glory. And the only person in Beacon Hills smart enough to do that was Stiles. And maybe Peter, but he was creepy and didn't count.

"Stiles," Scott said, suddenly serious.

"Yeah?"

"Do you think I should join the pack?"

"I think you should have a talk with Derek about what it entails, all of what it entails, and make a decision after that. I'm around him a lot, and I spend some time with his betas, so I have some ideas about what's involved, but I'm not a werewolf, and I haven't officially joined up either. I think there's a lot of stuff I don't know. It might be stuff you're not cool with. You should ask before you say yes or no. I think he's at a place where he'll actually give you a straight answer."

"Will he be mad if I still say no? He's put in a lot of work."

"He's put in a lot of work for the sake of the pack he already has, Scott. He needed to figure things the fuck out for them. Wanting you to join up may have been the catalyst that got him going, but it's not the reason he's doing it now. He wants you in the pack because he thinks it'll make you safer and because he likes you and thinks you can really help Erica, Isaac, and Boyd get their shit together. I mean, you manage to be a werewolf and not be a violent, arrogant bag of dicks, and that's the kind of role model he wants for them. And don't take this the wrong way, but I've been using my newfound position as Derek's sexy cuddle-bunny to start lowering expectations."

"You have?"

"Dude, it can only help." Stiles patted his arm. "At this point, if you say yes, he's going to be surprised and grateful. And he doesn't even realize I'm doing it."

"But didn't you spend all summer convincing me to join up?"

"See, you know me well enough and have known me long enough to recognize the signs. You are wise in the ways of the Stiles. You've been studying the Stiles for almost fourteen years. You've witnessed most of its development. Derek is a Stiles noob. He's had a crash course and jumped into the Stiles head-first, thinking he knows what's going on. I'm taking advantage of that shamelessly."

"So, I really don't have to join, and it won't end up being a repeat of the last few months of the school year?"

"You got it."

"Thanks."

"Hey, you know I'd do anything for you. And also, I don't want Melissa to have to call me and tell me that you've broken a guy's bones and she doesn't know how to deal with it ever again."

"I should apologize to Boyd."

"Derek should apologize to Boyd. That was his fault."

"But I still did it."

"Okay." Stiles shrugged. "Apologize if you think it's the right thing to do. You're the one with the moral compass, buddy, not me. I bow to your moral superiority."

"You've got a moral compass, Stiles."

"Yeah, but I keep mine too close to my belt buckle, and the needle just kind of spins all the time."


	11. Stiles

The week before school start, Derek called Stiles and Scott and asked them to come out to the Hale House, because apparently something sinister finally showed up. Stiles swung by Scott's house to pick him up and ended up getting Allison too since she was there. Derek wouldn't be thrilled, but the Argents were hunters. If something bad and supernatural had finally decided to show its face, they'd be there shooting at it. It was what they did. Stiles thought it was stupid not to be in contact with them so that Derek could let them know what they were up against and that any dead bodies that might surface weren't because of him and the pack.

There was a big, three pointed swastika on Derek's front door. His old front door. He lived in a loft now, thank you. Stiles really hoped Nazi wolves aren't a thing, because that was just messed up.

"Please tell me you didn't put that there," he said.

"Not me," Derek said, "The alpha pack."

Stiles had to have misunderstood that.

"The what now?" he asked.

"Alpha pack."

"As in, a pack of alphas?" Scott asked.

"Yes," Derek said.

"How is that even possible?" Stiles asked, "I thought that once you became an alpha, you started your own pack or something."

"That's how it's supposed to work," Derek said, "The alpha pack is different."

"Not in a good way, though, I'll bet," Stiles said.

"They showed up yesterday, and left this." Derek gestured to the symbol on the door. "I spent the night trying to track them down and figure out what the hell they want. It could be territory, but I doubt it. I think they're looking to recruit me." 

"Why?" Allison asked.

"Hale is an old name," Derek said, "A prestigious one among werewolves. If they had the Hale Alpha in their pack, it'd be a big deal."

"And what if you don't want to be recruited?" she asked.

"I don't know," Derek said, "but I doubt they'll take it well."

"Shit," Stiles muttered, rubbing a hand over his forehead.

"Yeah, shit," Derek agreed.

"Would it help if I joined the pack?" Scott asked.

"You can join if you want," Derek said, "but an alliance would be just as effective. You could maintain independence and still have whatever protection we can offer. I don't know if it'll be worth much against the Alphas, though."

"Okay, you better talk us through this," Stiles said, "because I'm starting to freak out and I don't even know how much I should be freaking, which, trust me, is not making me freak any less."

"There are five of them," Derek said, "all Alphas, and led by a guy named Deucalion. My mom used to know him, I think. He wasn't always the way he is. They call him the Demon Wolf. He's blind, but that doesn't stop him from killing everything in his path. I don't know much for sure, just rumors Laura and I heard when we were in New York. The rest of the alphas, I don't know anything about. I just picked up that many scents."

"Are they here as in, in Beacon Hills," Allison asked, "or as in lurking around the edges of your territory?"

"I haven't found them yet," Derek said, "just picked up their scents here and there. You may want to warn your dad."

"So, basically, you don't know for sure why they're here or who they all are," Stiles said, "just that they kill people and are generally terrifying and want something from you as evidenced by the three-pointed swastika graffiti they left on the burnt-out shell of your childhood home."

"Yes," Derek said.

"Okay, so how does an Alpha pack even form?" Stiles asked, "I'm having trouble with that. Aren't they all supposed to be the leader of a pack? That seems like it wouldn't work. Wouldn't they all be struggling for top dog? Can alphas even submit to other alphas and still be alphas?"

"You have to have an exceptionally powerful alpha like Deucalion to pull it off," Derek said, "He's powerful enough to force the others to submit against their natures."

"What about their packs?" Scott asked.

"They killed them," Derek said, "At least, that's what the rumors said."

"God, Derek, you don't think he wants you to do that, do you?" Stiles asked. Losing his pack again would crush Derek. The notion of having to kill them himself... Stiles couldn't imagine what that would be like for him.

"Maybe." Derek said, shoulders hunching at the thought, "He may just want to kill me. There's probably as much prestige in killing the Hale alpha as in recruiting him into your pack."

"So, I shouldn't join your pack then," Scott said.

"You live in my territory, Scott," Derek said, "and you were bitten by a Hale. I don't think he'll care whether you're officially mine or not."

"But if I join, will it make you more powerful?" Scott asked, "More able to fight him off if he attacks?"

A pained look crossed Derek's face. This was a situation he was trying to avoid repeating. Forcing Scott to join up out of necessity.

"You're a strong beta," Derek said, "Very strong. Yes, it would add to my powers a lot, but I don't want you to join because you feel like you have to. I want you to join only if you genuinely want to, if you feel like being pack would make you happy."

"I'm still thinking about it," Scott said, "I just... don't know yet."

"That's fine." Derek nodded. "In the meantime, what do you think about an alliance? You need help, you come to me. I run into something the pack can't handle without a little extra muscle, I'll ask you."

That sounded to Stiles like pretty much exactly what Derek considered being pack, except for the bit where Derek sometimes got to flex the I'm The Boss muscle. It was one of his bigger muscles, but he was getting better at using it sparingly.

"Okay," Scott said, "It's a deal."

Derek smiled. "Allison, it'd be good to have you and your father keeping an eye out for them as well, if you're willing."

Yes! Stiles had been working on this so hard, and it was finally paying off. Derek was making strategic decisions. He was trying to forge logical and useful alliances. Stiles was going to reward him for this so much later. He would do it now to get maximum Pavlovian conditioning points, but that would just interrupt things and maybe scar Alli and Scott for life, and that would hardly be helpful. But later, yes. So much positive reinforcement was coming Derek's way.

"I'll tell him," Allison said, "but after Mom and Gerard, I'm pretty sure he's set on retiring. I don't think he wants to be a hunter anymore."

Well, that was news. Not great news in terms of having an ally against the alpha pack, but not bad news in terms of having Chris Argent breathing down Derek's neck twenty-four seven.

Derek just nodded. "And Stiles, I was wondering if Isaac could come stay with you and your Dad for a while. It'd be safer."

God damn it. He'd been doing so well.

"Scott," Stiles said, "Why don't you take Roscoe and bring Alli home before her Dad comes by your house looking for her and finds her gone? Derek can give me a ride."

Not subtle, but whatever. He wasn't going to have this conversation in front of them. Stiles was trying not to undermine Derek's authority or call him a moron in front of people so much. 

"Sure, okay," Scott said, taking the keys from Stiles and grabbing Alli's hand, "I'll see you around, Derek."

"Bye," Allison said as he towed her away.

Stiles waved, and he and Derek watched the jeep disappear.

"I think you're getting less subtle," Derek said.

"I think I'm learning when to put in the work and when to conserve my energy," Stiles said, "It's a skill."

"So? Let's hear what stupid thing I'm doing now," Derek said.

"First, let me say you handled Scott perfectly," Stiles said, "and reaching out for Alli's help, just yes. That was awesome. You're getting so good at this. But sending Isaac away? Come on, man. I thought we were done with the whole isolating yourself and shouldering all the burden thing. You're an alpha. You have a pack, and packs are only strong when they stick together. You don't start pushing them away at the first sign of danger, you pull them in. You circle the wagons. You batten down the fucking hatches, man, with everyone, including yourself and your massive martyr complex, inside. No one should be alone right now, ever, and I hate to say it, but you need to make things right with Peter."

"What?"

"He's pack. He's pack, and he knows shit the rest of us don't. And he needs to learn to work with the other betas. You've got them working with each other pretty well, even Jackson, and he's only been back from London for like a week and a half. Now, part of that comes from him playing lacrosse and knowing how to rely on other people to carry their weight, but still. He's an asshat, and you've got him working reasonably well with the other three. And Erica, Isaac, and Boyd work together and with you like a fucking dream. But Peter's pack too, and you haven't even tried adding him into the mix. He may be able to work around them in a fight, but they aren't experienced enough to work around him. And it'll be better if they work with him instead of around him. They need to practice it, Derek. And you're his alpha. It's your job to pull him into the wagon circle when the bad guys come knocking. And spray-painting. Or is that paint-paint?"

"It's paint-paint."

"But seriously, Derek. They'll be looking for weaknesses, and the rift between you and Peter is a big fat stinking weakness with neon signs overhead and fucking flashing arrows pointing right at it. Just... do something about it. I'm not saying I expect you to forgive him, magically, for murdering Laura and trying to murder you and then using you to resurrect himself, but you have to start somewhere."

Derek was coming closer now, and Stiles' tummy was doing this little flipping thing that was part nerves since he was telling Derek what to do and part the insane amount of attraction and affection he had for the guy. Even when he was being an idiot. And now he was right in front of Stiles and his big, warm hands were sliding around Stiles' neck and cradling his jaw. Derek pushed his head back and to the side to expose his throat, cupping his head in one hand and sliding the other down to his shoulder to pull the collar of his shirt aside. Then he was kissing the side of his neck and sucking a column of tiny marks from the bottom of Stiles' jaw down to his collar bone, and Stiles was moaning softly and clutching at his back. He tipped his head more and felt Derek smile against his skin.

"Derek." Stiles voice was soft and whimpery and high. Why did he never sound hot and manly when he was turned on like Derek did?

"Are you pack, Stiles?" Derek asked, deep and husky.

Stiles was nodding even before he finished the question, before he could even consider the answer.

"Say it," Derek demanded.

"I'm pack," Stiles said, "We're pack. You're my alpha, and I'm your pack."

Derek kissed him, hot and deep, and Stiles couldn't breathe it was so good.

"Say it again."

"I'm pack. I'm yours, and you're mine. You're my alpha."

Derek hauled him up and pinned him against the door frame. 

And fucked him. Hard.


	12. Stiles

Lydia came back to Beacon Hills two days before school started and apparently decided that she needed an entirely new wardrobe. And that somehow involved calling Stiles as well as Allison and demanding that they go shopping with her. And since no one refused an order from Lydia Martin without fearing for their life, Stiles had found himself carrying a thousand bags around the mall and listening to her and Allison discuss shoes and accessories and whether or not Stiles needed tighter pants and better shirts. Stiles maintained that he did not, but that only went so far in the face of two girls who'd outgrown barbie dolls and now had nothing to dress up. 

Then they'd run into Erica, who'd been looking for leather shorts or something, a change from the leather skirts, and she'd invited herself to join them. And now Stiles owned a pair of jeans he couldn't even look at himself in without getting embarrassed. He had managed to argue his way out of a lot of the clothes they'd picked for him, had managed to slip a few more onto conveniently located racks on the way to the check out, and had managed to prevent the three of them from throwing out some of the clothes in his closet. So, a lot of them had been his dad's at one point and were long and loose? They had the best texture, all soft and worn. In the end, though, he'd had to prioritize which items he really wanted to fight for, and that had been his funny t-shirts, his ratty comfy jeans, and like six henleys of Derek's that still smelled like him even after they'd been through the wash. Because alpha scent could not be defeated by laundry detergent.

And if he'd been wearing the obscene jeans and one of Derek's henleys when Derek swung by to check on him later that evening, well, no one needed to know. Except for the wall of his bedroom. And the floor. And the bed. Where he'd shown Stiles exactly how much he liked that.

Sex with Derek had sort of gone back to the way it was before the Week of No Touching Stiles' Ass. Constant and vigorous and leaving Stiles with trembly legs and the most ridiculous collection of bruises and hickeys in the history of ever. Stiles was giving Derek a pass because there would be a lot less time for it once Stiles was in school five days a week, and it made sense to stock up on orgasms when he had the chance. Scott had taken one whiff and flatly refused to set foot in Stiles' house. In fact, he wouldn't hang out with him in any enclosed spaces, so they sort of ended up Skyping, X-boxing, and calling one another on the phone like they had in the end of June.

Stiles walked into the first day of school in one of his new outfits on legs that could barely hold him up. He didn't think anyone could tell, though, not that anyone was really looking. Scott had wrinkled his nose at the smell of him and then proceeded to hug him way longer than was normal and kind of wiggle against him, which no one even batted an eyelash at. Then he looked more relaxed. Stiles was tempted to tell him that if he wanted to scent mark Stiles, he should be rubbing the sides of his face on him, not his chest, but whatever. Instead, he just patted Scott on the cheek absently and then rubbed the back of his own neck to transfer the scent. Scott relaxed a lot more after that.

Isaac, Erica, and Boyd didn't say anything to the two of them, but they did brush up against Stiles in the hallway on the way past, and one of them, he suspected either Erica or Isaac, fondled his ass none too gently. He wasn't sure of it was to remind him of Derek or to remind him that they knew what the two of them were getting up to, or if it was just them messing with him. Whatever the reason, he'd arched up and made a very embarrassing noise when they did it, and of course, that was the one thing he did that people noticed. He was now the kid who made sex noises in the hallways. Could be worse.

And then there were the twins, Ethan and Aiden. Stiles hadn't seen them in person until he was headed to his last class, but he'd heard about them from Allison and Lydia, who'd apparently seen them at lunch. Lydia in particular seemed interested, which bothered him, but not for the reasons it would have before he'd hooked up with Derek. No, it bothered him because they were werewolves. He knew it the instant he saw them, even before they'd sniffed the air, locked eyes on him, and started circling right there in the hallway. He wasn't sure exactly how he'd known, but it didn't matter because they'd confirmed it immediately. And the only new wolves in town were the alpha pack. And they were going to high school with them. And getting really, really close. He couldn't move a step without running into one at this point, and he got the feeling they were hoping for an excuse to kick the crap out of him. And Scott did not have this class with him. He was on the opposite end of the building and couldn't help. 

And then Boyd was there, stepping smoothly between the two of them and walking right into Stiles, pushing him backwards surprisingly gently. Out of their reach, and into his next class. He handed Stiles the backpack he hadn't realized he'd dropped, grazed a hand lightly along Stiles' neck, and then vanished out the door. Like some kind of silent superhero. Maybe, Boyd was batman, not Scott or Stiles.

Stiles pulled out his phone and texted Derek. Alpha twins at school, majorly creepy. Boyd is my hero. Also, did you tell Isaac or Erica to grope me? He had to shut his phone off for class, but when he checked it on the way to his car with Scott, all three betas, Jackson, Lydia, and Allison all trailing him, he had a text that read: No, but I may have asked them to make sure you thought of me at least once during the day. And he could feel it, okay? He could feel himself melting into a gooshy puddle right there in the parking lot between Roscoe and Jackson's Porche.

"Oh, my god. Keep it in your pants, Stilinski," Jackson said.

"You suck at reading scents," Stiles said, "because that is not my pants region that's reacting right now."

"I know that, but whenever you start thinking of Derek, you end up there eventually."

"Well, to be fair, my pants region is very good friends with Derek. It's no wonder it gets happy to see him."

"Oh, my god. Lydia, if you want a ride, get in now, because I'm leaving before this gets any grosser."

Lydia rolled her eyes but got into his car. Erica, Isaac, and Boyd got into the little Toyota that was parked on the other side of Roscoe, and Scott and Allison piled into the jeep with Stiles. Scott had bought his motorcycle, but he was still waiting on confirmation from the insurance company before he could start driving it around, so Stiles was driving him. And Allison was hanging with Scott after school, so it didn't make sense to have her dad waste gas and money and pick her up in the ridiculous Sherman tank he drove. Stiles strongly suspected that her dad wasn't going to let her ride on Scott's motorcycle, so Stiles would probably end up being her chauffer on the regular. But that was fine. 

When he got home, Derek was sitting on his bed with the beastiary fired up and open and a bunch of sheets of paper spread out on the comforter. He barely glanced up when Stiles came in, so whatever he was doing, it must have been important. Stiles dumped his backpack on his desk chair and came around to look over his shoulder.

"Is this about the alphas or the dead animals?" he asked.

Derek tilted his head back to plant a kiss on Stiles' throat. "The animals. I think I figured part of it out."

"Holy shit," Stiles said, finally actually looking at the pages on the bed, "What the hell happened to those cats?"

"They clawed themselves to death."

"What? Gross. Are you shitting me? Do animals do that?"

"According to this, yes. It's a fear response. To the Alpha pack."

"Oh, my god. Innocent kittens are committing suicide just to avoid them? That is like the biggest fucking sign of a terrible person that has ever existed. Even Peter doesn't make baby animals kill themselves with his very presence."

"Hey, if I'm going to make him work within the pack, you can't be saying stuff like that. It'll just reinforce the betas' bad impressions of him."

"What? Dude, they're not even here. How's that coming, by the way?"

"Not great. Peter's good in a fight, a lot better than the four of them, but he goads them so much they just lose control and attack him instead of fighting alongside him. Even the ones who are supposed to be on his team."

"How's it coming with Jackson?"

Jackson had discovered in London that he sometimes still made the shift to the Kanima instead of a werewolf, but unlike his wolf shift, he couldn't control it. And he hadn't figured out what the trigger was. Derek had been trying to help him figure it out and to bring out the paralyzing talons, the scales, and the tail instead of the fur and the fangs.

"It's hit or miss. He can manage a partial shift if he's focusing really hard, but he won't be any good in a fight if he has to focus so hard on that instead of his opponent. He hasn't done a full shift on purpose, only by accident. He's getting frustrated."

"Is there anything in the beastiary about it?"

"No, but Peter says he has some ideas. I'm considering letting him try. He helped me learn to control my shift when I was a kid."

"Yeah?" Stiles sometimes forgot that Peter was Derek's uncle. He'd watched Derek grow up, may even have played with him or babysat when he was a little kid. Stiles couldn't imagine how he'd feel if someone who'd been that sort of person in his life had gone off and killed his dad or Scott. That... that was some heavy shit.

"Yeah," Derek said.

"Well, maybe that would help him integrate. Get him to bond with Jackson and Jackson to bond with the other three, like an intermediate step. Besides, Jackson's used to smart people talking down to him. He's dating Lydia. He should be able to keep his cool."

"I still don't trust him."

"Peter or Jackson?"

"Peter."

"He hasn't exactly given you a reason to, but I think right now, we don't have a choice but to give him a chance anyway."


	13. Peter

Derek was getting better at being Alpha, he really was. Not that it was his own doing. Anyone could see the Stilinski kid was leading him around by the nostrils. Stiles had even talked him out of trying to make Scott McCall join the pack, for goodness sake, and Derek didn't even realize he'd been played. At least, one person other than Peter himself had a brain and used it. Thank fuck. Derek had apparently used his enough to realize that Stiles had a better handle on things than he did and that he should do as the kid said, which was better than nothing, but it wasn't going to take long for Deucalion to realize who was actually in charge. Stiles was vulnerable. Human alphas did not exist. Human alphas who ordered around Alpha werewolves really didn't exist. Deucalion would never stand for it, and Derek was far enough in denial about who was wearing the pants in that pack that he didn't see the danger.

And because Peter had decided that he really was going to try to keep his idiot nephew alive, and happy if possible, although that one was less a priority and more an 'if it happens to work out' thing, he had to go warn him before Stiles got his throat ripped out on the way to school. He smelled the panic, anxiety, and anger and heard the shouting before he even reached the block the warehouse was on, although he couldn't determine who it was or what was being said until he got there.

Derek and Stiles. Mostly Stiles' voice, although that was hardly surprising. The kid could talk circles around anyone.

"-told you they were going to try to rip this pack apart. They're already targeting everyone's weak spots. They slipped Erica something that gave her a mini-seizure. They're making Isaac doubt his place in the pack, and you trying to send him to live somewhere else right in front of his face is only reinforcing that. Ethan's climbing into Danny's pants, which has Jackson crawling out of his skin. Aiden is chasing Lydia, which is throwing her off her game and Jackson even more off his. Scott and Allison are broken up for good now, which I don't have proof that they caused, but I'm sure they had something to do with it. Boyd, I don't know. I mean, the guy is impossible to ruffle, and he doesn't confide in me. They're playing off your fear of losing everyone you care about, and you know it, and it's still working. You tried to throw Isaac out again. We need Peter, Derek."

Well, that was interesting.

"I'm trying with him," Derek said, "I swear I am. We have lunch or dinner together at least twice a week, and I try to talk about shit. I do, but he just won't. And I have him working with Jackson, okay? He's making progress. It's good. It's even helping him get along with Isaac, Boyd, and Erica just like you said it might, but it's not enough, and I don't know how to make it enough."

Oh. Oh. Was that what Derek was doing when he dragged Peter out of his apartment twice a week and let Peter verbally flay him? Trying to connect? And Stiles had suggested it. Huh. He hadn't seen that coming.

Stiles sighed. "I know you're trying, Derek, but you haven't accepted him. Your betas haven't accepted him. It's a huge fucking problem, man. You need him."

"I just need more muscle. I asked Scott to help."

"Scott? Scott is not Peter. You need Peter. You need him as your second. Scott won't cut it."

"Boyd is my heir, not Scott."

"I know that," Stiles said, "I get that. I'm not talking about your heir. I agree with that choice. Boyd is smart and steady, and he would keep this pack together and alive. But he's not a killer, and you're up against a whole pack of them. God. Shit. It's... you're gonna lose this game, because you're playing without an offensive line. You've got defenders who can hold it together mostly, and you've got you playing center, but you spend half your time on defense because the other team's offense is all state and our defense is triple A. We are getting the shit kicked out of us. You need an offensive line to draw some of their players to the other end of the field, and you've got one, but you won't take it off the fucking bench."

"I taught Erica, Isaac, and Boyd how to fight."

"You taught them how to stay alive and look out for each other. You taught them to defend their territory and their pack. You did not teach them how to be killers. They're defense, Derek. They fight to protect, not to kill. They don't have it in them. Not Scott, not Erica, not Isaac, and not Boyd. Jackson could do it, but he can't control his kanima shift. You need Peter. He's strong. He's cunning and ruthless, and he's the only one in this pack other than you who can match the Alpha pack's ferocity. Peter fights for what's his, and he fights to kill. That's why he wins. That's why he kicked your and Scott's furry butts from one side of Beacon Hills to the other last year. He can help you win. You need him out there kicking ass and raising blood pressure. So, get your head out your butt before we all die, get on the fucking phone, call him, and tell him he's First Beta and he'd better get his psychotic rear end down here and pull his goddamn weight."

Well, at least one of them appreciated what he brought to the table. Peter regretted more and more that he hadn't bitten Stiles that day in the parking ramp. He hadn't had to give him a choice. He could have just taken him. Should have. He would never have lost with Stiles on his side, and from the way things were turning out, it would probably have won him Derek's loyalty as well, over time. Ah, well. Hindsight. He had more important things to focus on right now. Like proving to Derek that Stiles was right about him.

He pushed open the loft's door. "No need to use your phone, Derek. You can tell me to my face. It's so much more meaningful that way."

"Don't be an ass, Peter," Derek said, "We've got a serious problem."

"And as your First Beta, I will, of course, do my best to produce a solution."

"Boyd, Isaac, and Erica are missing," Derek said.

"And a girl from our school turned up dead," Stiles added, "Two of them actually. Both killed the same way. Garroted, head bashed in, and then all their blood drained. I think it's human sacrifice, but I'm not sure if it's related to the Alpha pack or not."

There were a lot of scary things that sacrificed humans for power, but figuring out which they were looking at would take time, and right now, they had bigger problems.

"I think the missing betas are a more urgent concern," Peter said, "What happened?"

"They never came home from school," Derek said, "I can't find the car. I can't find their scents. They just disappeared."

"You're thinking the Alpha pack took them, then?" Peter asked.

"I don't know who else would do it," Derek said, "but I also don't know why they would kidnap them instead of just killing them."

"Let's not look a gift horse in the mouth," Stiles said, "If they're just kidnapped, they're still alive, and we have a shot at getting them back."

"I think it's safe to say that if we don't find them soon, they won't live long," Peter said, "We need a lead. Any lead."

"We could see if Deucalion is willing to meet for a talk," Stiles said, "See if any of us can pick up a clue about his base of operations from him directly. A scent or something. I could have Scott check on the twins, although I don't know how he'd do it without drawing attention to himself."

"We have nothing to say to Deucalion that would make a difference," Peter said, "He has half our pack. We're even less dangerous to him now than we were before. We can't threaten him, and we certainly can't ask him nicely to give them back."

"Maybe, Lydia could find them," Stiles suggested, "She's kind of got that psychic thing going on, and she's starting to figure out what triggers it. Sort of. Or the Argents. We should try Mr. Argent again. See if he'll help out. Boyd, Isaac, and Erica never hurt anyone."

Wait. Again? They'd gone to Chris Argent for help? The Argents? Hunters?

"Argent's looking into the dead students," Derek said, "They were human. He's got priorities."

"Do you think he'd give me Mountain Ash if I asked?" Stiles asked.

"Deaton probably would," Peter said. Chris Argent would almost certainly give Stiles Mountain Ash if he asked, but he didn't like the idea of the pack putting itself in debt to a hunter.

Stiles was silent for a long moment. "No, I'm really very extra sure he wouldn't."

"Stiles?" Derek asked.

"Yeah, we're not going to talk about that right now," Stiles said, "Just... you should know that Deaton probably won't help you much unless what you want him to do will benefit Scott directly, and in the way he wants things to work in Scott's favor. So, don't count on him too much. He's like a tertiary asset at best, okay? If you need something from him, maybe send Scott, and make sure he knows to make it sound like he's asking, not you. And be prepared for him to get talked into doing something else entirely, because he trusts that guy way too much."

Sounded like someone was still a little more bitter about the Gerard thing than he was willing to admit.

The next few weeks were tense at best and mostly downright horrible. Scott, Jackson, Lydia, and Allison Argent had all been pulled in to help him, Derek, and Stiles find the Alpha pack's hide-out. They weren't having much success. Okay, any success. They had nothing. And more bodies were turning up. Stiles and Lydia had identified the first three as virgins, but the fourth was apparently not one, so they were back to having no idea what was going on. Peter hated to admit it, but he didn't have any ideas either. And he was busy with his current assignment, courtesy of Stiles, which was to get Jackson's kanima shift the fuck under control. 

It was a headache. The kid was not gifted in the brains department, and Peter didn't like taking orders from Stiles. Even if he was better at the whole Alpha business than Derek. He would say one thing for Jackson, though. The guy did not give up. He worked until he dropped and then got back up and worked just as hard again. It almost made up for the rest of his personality. But not quite.

But what was worse, by far, was how proximity to Derek was affecting him. Derek was his alpha now, and his nephew had never been good at handling strong emotions. The longer Peter was near him, the more he bonded to him, and the more he was picking up on Derek's emotional spill-over. Derek was a wreck. Angry, anxious, worried, and guilty. His wolf was bridling at having so many challengers in its territory and freaking out trying to locate and protect its missing pack. He didn't even bother trying to control his eyes in private anymore, letting them glow crimson constantly, and Peter, Jackson, and Scott, who had finally stopped flip-flopping and submitted to Derek for real, couldn't help but do the same.

And then there was the Stiles problem.

Derek and Stiles had gone from having sex a least once a day to a quick exchange of chaste kisses when they said hello and goodbye. It was the fastest descent into old-married-couple status Peter had ever seen. Derek's wolf saw its marks fading and its scent getting lighter on the mate it desperately wanted to claim, and Derek wasn't fighting to keep him. He was letting it happen. And his mood and temper were getting worse and worse by the day. Anyone else's blue balls would have been annoying at worst, and Peter could have ignored them, but Derek's were a problem for everyone. Because Peter was starting to get urges to do things like push Stiles onto the nearest surface and peel his clothes off. And that was just gross, because he was seventeen and his nephew's boyfriend. So, he had to do something, not only because was it messing with his head, but also, as first beta, it was his job to make sure this pack functioned as well as it could. Even if that meant getting his alpha laid.

He tried talking to Derek first. Told him his boner was making him snappy and snarly and that he should find time to put it to good use before he took someone's eye out with it. Derek said they were too busy for that right now. Peter suggested at least taking the time to give Stiles a few very visible hickeys now and then. Derek said that Stiles didn't need the added stress of explaining them to his father. Peter suggested maybe scent marking him more often, and Derek said that scent marking would turn into sex in about four seconds, and he'd already said it wasn't a good time to be distracted with sex. Peter said the lack of sex was distracting him, and Derek told him he had it under control and to fuck off. And since Peter was trying to be a halfway decent beta, he did. Right up until the day he licked Stiles' neck.

It was a day like every other day they'd had since Erica, Isaac, and Boyd vanished from under their noses. Allison and Jackson were out poking around, trying to find a trail or a clue. Derek and Scott were in the other room discussing the places they'd eliminated as possibilities. Stiles, Lydia, and Peter were at the table going over maps and what little information Lydia had been able to determine from her... auditory hallucinations or whatever they were. Stiles was calling them her Helpful Voices. Peter was thinking that it might be a good idea to devote some time and energy to working out what exactly she was so she could train properly instead of just guessing, and suddenly, he found himself pressed against Stiles' back, licking a wet line up the side of his neck. 

Stiles flailed and yelled, and Peter jerked himself away.

"Fuck," he snapped, "Derek!"

Derek and Scott were already in the room, and Peter leveled a glare at his nephew.

"What the hell, dude?" Stiles shrieked, "You just licked me. That's disgusting."

"Well, it wasn't exactly a treat for me either. Derek, this is ridiculous. You're lucky Lahey isn't here, or he'd be humping Stiles against a wall by now. Scott, Lydia, get your jackets. We're going to buy me the biggest bottle of mouthwash they sell at the seven-eleven, and then we're going to check in with Chris Argent to see what he knows about the corpses Lydia keeps finding." He grabbed Stiles by the arm and shoved him into Derek's chest. "If you haven't fucked him at least three times before we get back, I swear I will make your life a living hell."

He hadn't had to wait until he got back and could smell it to know that Derek had taken his advice. He could feel the tension and nervous energy melting away, and a small amount of endorphins rush in. Finally. He had to remind Derek to take the occasional opportunity to screw Stiles a few times after that as well before he started doing it without prompting. Once, when it had been just the three of them in the loft, Peter had thrown Stiles bodily into Derek and knocked them both onto the bed. Their clothes had been off by the time he'd reached the door. Whatever. As long as he wasn't getting hard-ons for underage boys anymore, he could deal with it.

Then, out of the blue, Isaac showed up at the loft, shaken, but alive and unharmed. Some woman on a motorcycle had rescued him and then rode off into the sunset without leaving a name or a number or telling him why she'd helped him. It was a little bit heartbreaking to see how relieved Derek was to see the kid. Peter was pretty sure he'd hugged Isaac for two minutes straight and hadn't stopped scent marking and practically clinging to him since, not that Isaac seemed to mind. And, of course, he couldn't remember what had happened to him before being rescued, so Peter had been called on to extract the memories. Which weren't there, because Deucalion wasn't an idiot and would have thought of that possibility and taken care of it ahead of time. 

It was Scott who suggested going to Deaton for help, and Stiles who backed him up, because pack or not, pseudo-alpha or not, Stiles was always going to back Scott. Although, it may have gotten interesting to see him juggle sides if Derek had objected. Derek didn't though, because it was their best bet for finding the other two betas before they got killed. Deaton's method of bringing the memories back involved an ice bath and copious amounts of mistletoe, and he did not envy Isaac the experience. It worked, though, and they had their location. Beacon Hills First National Bank, which had closed its doors not too long ago. They just needed a way in.


	14. Peter

Stiles had procured blueprints before lunchtime, but the game plan took longer. The day he arrived, having texted ahead that he'd figured it out, with a new bundle of papers in hand, Peter could smell the chemical reek of too much Adderol in his system. So could the rest of the wolves, but no one said anything because you couldn't argue with the results. Focused Stiles was actually a bit frightening, and Peter didn't scare easily. Only Scott had seen Stiles in that state before, and he was the only one of them who wasn't thrown by the experience. Jackson looked constipated. Lydia looked like she was seeing Stiles for the first time and wasn't sure how she'd missed it before. Allison looked like she was on the verge of calling a counseling hotline or maybe Stiles' father. Isaac looked like he wanted to fix whatever was wrong with the whole situation and didn't know how. Derek looked like he was considering confiscating the bottle of pills rattling around in Stiles' pocket, but he managed to keep his mouth shut for once in his moronic existence, and wasn't that a miracle?

They decided that Derek, Scott, and Isaac would go into the bank to liberate Erica and Boyd, and he, Allison, and Jackson would remain outside in reserve, ready to be called in if something went wrong. Stiles and Lydia stayed at the loft to work on figuring out who or what was sacrificing people to whom or what and for what purpose. Peter did not expect to have an answer waiting when he got back from sitting in his car with Jackson and Allison Argent sweating on the upholstery and exchanging awkward glances. They were uncomfortable with him, even Jackson who'd been spending a lot of time training with him in the last months. Of course, that hadn't been social interaction. It'd been training. They'd had something to work on, not a bunch of time to shoot the breeze. Five minutes past the time when Derek, Scott, and Isaac ought to have been returning, missing betas in tow, if all had been successful, Peter's phone rang. How Stiles had gotten his number, he would never know, but the kid had it, and he was calling.

"That bank vault is lined in Hecatolite," Stiles said the instant he picked up, "Lydia remembers seeing something in the beastiary about that in the werewolf section, but she doesn't remember what it was, and neither do I. And I was thinking it might be the reason why they chose that spot for a hide-out. Do you know what it is?"

Shit. Shit shit shit. They'd been in there over the full moon. Two full moons. They were going to be moon-starved and vicious, and Derek had no idea what he was walking into.

"Stay at the loft. Keep your phone on." Peter hung up and unbuckled his seat belt. "We're going in. Allison, get your flash bulbs ready and if you shoot someone, aim to maim. Severely maim. We're about to have two, possibly three, rabid werewolves on our hands. Extra strong, extra bloodthirsty, extra everything. If they come at you, you'd better slow them the fuck down, or you'll never get away without killing one. Jackson..."

"I'll do my best," Jackson said, scales already speckling out on his face.

Peter hit the speed dial, but Derek didn't pick up. 

"Allison, call Scott."

She handed him the phone, already ringing.

"Allison? Now's a bad time."

"Shut up," Peter said, "You have to get out of there. Derek, that vault is lined with Hecatolite. It's a trap. Get out now, or you'll be ripped to shreds by your own betas."

Derek's voice in the background just said, "Cora?"

Cora? Cora was dead.

"Derek!" he shouted. Allison was slipping down the air vent while he and Jackson waited. She was smallest, and they needed someone in there fast. And Scott listened to her. 

Jackson moved to follow, but then Peter heard someone say something to someone named Marin, and stopped him. Marin. He knew that name. That was Deaton's sister, and she was a druid too.

"We need to help them," Jackson said.

"Wait. Something's not right."

And then the sounds of furious growls and howling and crashing came thundering out the phone's speakers and up through the vent shaft. Allison was screaming, and Peter felt a jolt of pain and confusion he knew was coming from Derek. An intense need to find his alpha and fight at his side washed over him, and he felt his fangs drop. But something wasn't right. Going down this vent was exactly what Deucalion wanted.

Jackson was hissing and lashing his tail next to him.

"Come on," Peter said, and the kid followed him across the roof and over to the front doors in time for three figures to crash through at a full run, transformed and howling.

Shit.

Scott and Isaac appeared next, following, but they skidded to a stop when he and Jackson dropped to the ground next to them. Allison came out with Derek draped across her shoulder. Half his torso had been mauled. It was barely healing. His emotions always did get in his way.

"Get him back to the loft." He threw Allison his keys. "You three, with me. We've got to round them up before they kill someone and bring the hunters down on our heads as well as the Alphas. Derek, if you get blood on my seats, you're buying me a new car."

Cora was the easiest to find and take down. She was born a wolf. She had better control, and had managed to force herself to stop and work out some of her rage on a few unsuspecting deer. A swipe of Jackson's claws, and she was down for the count. Isaac slung her up on his back and carried her as they went after the other two. They couldn't afford to split up or reduce their numbers. Boyd was huge and ridiculously strong, and he kicked the shit out of them for a little while until Scott wrapped himself around his legs and hampered him enough for Jackson to get a claw in his hide. Peter took Cora and had Isaac carry Boyd because he was the only one tall enough to carry him at a run without dealing with limbs dragging on the ground. Erica was the toughest, though. She was a wily and slippery opponent, and Peter mentally cursed Derek for teaching his betas so well how to avoid taking a hit. And Jackson couldn't scratch her without giving her a seizure. It took all four of them tag-teaming her to wear her down enough that Peter could knock her out. Then they carried all three of them to the bank, shoved them in the back of Derek's little toyota, which they'd found there, and drove to the loft.

Deaton was there already, patching up Derek while Stiles fretted and flitted around him. The vet examined Erica, Boyd, and Cora, and pulled a series of vials out of his medical bag and set them on the table. He was explaining dosage and how frequently to administer the medicine, something to help them recover from moon-starvation, but Peter wasn't listening because Cora. That was Cora. 

He hadn't had time to think about it earlier, but now she was all he could see and smell. Cora was alive.

Stiles would take care of the rest of it.

Right now, Cora was alive.


	15. Derek

Having Erica and Boyd back was more of a relief than Derek could ever say. He'd scent marked them thoroughly, and the wolf was rumbling with pleasure, finally sure of its pack's safety. Even just for a little bit. And Cora. Cora was alive. Somehow, impossibly, she was alive. He had a sister. He sat by the bed where she lay paralyzed and full of Deaton's medicines, holding her hand and just staring at her. When Peter came up behind him and touched his shoulder, he just grabbed his hand and pulled it down around his chest so his uncle was hugging him, head on his shoulder, chest against Derek's back, and Derek could pretend they were family like before. Then Peter carefully rubbed his temple against Derek's scent gland and sighed, his calmness and happiness seeping into Derek, and Derek felt his wounds mending under the bandages. Maybe one day Peter would love him again, a little, like he clearly loved Cora. But even if he didn't, even if he was only around because he was dedicated to the Hale pack, that would be okay.

Peter had been great today. He'd taken charge when Derek had been hurt, and he'd remembered not to let Jackson scratch Erica. And he'd been working hard since Derek had made him First Beta. Helping keep the pack together and alive. Derek wasn't quite sure he was ready to say he trusted him yet, but his uncle was proving himself. Stiles had been right that they needed him. He was right about most things.

He could hear Stiles puttering around behind him, getting rid of the papers and diagrams for the bank since they shouldn't need them anymore. For someone who made such huge messes, he didn't like to clutter up his workspace with anything irrelevant to his current case. He smelled relieved over the residue of his anxiety and Adderol, and he smelled like mate. Unclaimed mate. His wolf perked up, hopeful that this was the time, finally, but he quelled it. Stiles was still only seventeen. Too young. And he should stop thinking about mating, or he'd get turned on, and he did not need to subject Cora to that. Not that she wouldn't know since Stiles smelled like him and sex pretty much always. Not as often with the Alphas in town, but once they figured out how to make them leave... yeah. He was going to make up for lost time. 

The moon was still close to full, even if it was technically past, and with Deaton's medicine and long nights laying on the balcony in the moonlight, it only took four days for Erica, Boyd, and Cora to recover. And it took about four hours after that for Cora to make it clear that she despised Stiles. And maybe Derek too. At least, she waited until Stiles went home to have dinner with is father and the rest of the pack had cleared out to see their families and in Boyd and Erica's case, explain why they'd run away. The police were going to be involved, he just knew it, and he'd probably be brought in for questioning since Isaac had been missing from school for a while there too and everyone knew Isaac was friends with Erica and Boyd. Great. He'd better lawyer up, or he was going to lose custody.

"What the hell, Derek?" Cora demanded the second the pack was out the door, pulling him out of his thoughts.

"What?" he asked.

"What the hell was that?"

"What was what?"

"I came back from Brazil because I heard there was a strong Hale Alpha in Beacon Hills again," she said, glaring at him, "I get here to find you pussy-whipped and being led around by some... some waifish idiot with an Adderol addiction. You're supposed to be the alpha, and you let him order you and your betas around."

And that, that wasn't fair.

"Don't talk like you know anything, Cora," he said, "You've been here all of four days. You don't know shit. This pack wouldn't exist without Stiles. When I first became Alpha, I fucked it up so badly. I mean, I was really shitty at it. All I did was bark out orders and throw claws when they weren't obeyed fast enough. Stiles wasn't the only person to tell me I was doing it wrong, but he was the only one who tried to help. And he didn't tell me what to do. He pointed out that I wasn't keeping my promises to my betas, threatened to call Child Protective Services, and threw a book on leadership techniques at my head. He gave me advice, not orders, and let me figure out what to do with that advice on my own, and he's been doing it ever since. Yes, his advice frequently comes out framed as orders, but that's just how he talks. When I choose to do something else, he adjusts to match my decisions, and if he feels like I still need to be challenged on it, he does it in private, never in front of my betas. He understands the importance of pack structure, and he knows not to challenge me or undermine my authority in front of them. They take orders from him because he's a higher rank, and he has that rank because he's earned it by contributing to the well-being of the pack, not because he's my boyfriend. He acts as a surrogate alpha when I'm not around, yes, because he's earned it, but they would never obey him if his orders conflicted with mine. I want you to stick around, but you have to understand that you can't challenge his position. He's human, and he doesn't know how to fight, but not only would I defend him, so would Scott, Isaac, and most likely Peter."

"So, I either let him order me around, or I take a hike, is that it?" She was pissed, and he hoped this was some sort of blow-back from moon starvation still, but he didn't think he'd get that lucky. He was pretty sure he'd used up his luck getting Stiles.

"Orders from him are orders from me," he said, "I'd expect you to follow them. I would never throw you out, though. Scott's been living in Beacon Hills as a werewolf for over a year, and he only just joined the pack. If I can make it work with him, I can sure as hell make it work with my own little sister."

Cora managed not to be outright hostile towards Stiles, but she was quick to challenge him whenever he made a suggestion, and in between, she glared and sometimes bared her teeth. It was not helping the rest of the pack feel settled. Isaac and Jackson had both nearly jumped her for it on multiple occasions, but Stiles had diffused the situations quickly with flippant remarks, and Peter had once by telling her to shut the hell up. It wasn't a surprise that Isaac reacted, but it was that Jackson did. There had been a time, not so long ago, when Jackson had had a similar problem with Stiles. Boyd had told Derek that Jackson had made a bunch of disparaging comments about Stiles in a hallway at school, and Isaac had thrown him against the lockers and punched him out until he'd submitted and apologized. And now Jackson was coming to his defense. Derek wondered if that was Peter's doing. Peter liked Stiles, and he took steps to protect vulnerable people before they needed protection.

Derek wasn't sure how to fix the situation. He wasn't sure if Cora hated Stiles because he had so much influence with Derek, because he was higher in the pack structure than her, or just because he rubbed her the wrong way. At this point, he didn't think there was anything he could do but wait for her to see Stiles in action, to see how much he cared about the pack, about Derek, and how he would do everything in his power to help and protect them. It had worked on Peter, and it was working on Erica and Boyd. He could see it. It didn't hurt that they were hearing from Isaac how Stiles had worked himself to exhaustion trying to find a way into that vault to get them. 

Cora didn't seem to care though. She didn't like Stiles, and she was determined to hang onto the feeling. It took a few more days before it boiled over again and she cornered Derek in the loft.

"He's manipulative," she said, "and he reeks of McCall."

"They're best friends," Derek said cooly, "They have been since they were three. He's always going to smell like Scott. And I know he's manipulative. I also know that he would never manipulate me in order to hurt me."

"You're okay with being controlled by him."

"It's not about control. It's about protection. Sometimes, Stiles sees things coming that I miss completely, and when he can't convince me they're real, or at least thinks he won't be able to, he steers me into safer waters when my back is turned. It's what he does with the people he loves."

"Boyd told me he used sex to get you to stop trying to make McCall join the pack."

"That's not quite how that happened. The sex was my idea, and no, he didn't plant it there. He wasn't even aware that I was attracted to him. And that wasn't how he got me to stop gunning for Scott. He convinced me that as Scott's best friend, he was much better suited to the job and could do it without generating as much hostility as my methods were."

"So, he stabbed his friend in the back for his fuckbuddy?"

"Are you seriously this determined to hate him? God, Cora. Stiles did not betray Scott. He never would. He wanted Scott to be in the pack because there are hunters in town, and hunters kill omegas. His friend was in danger, and he wanted him to be safe."

"Then he was using you."

"If he was using me to protect Scott, he'd have done what Scott did the first time around, which was say he wanted to join so that the pack would protect him and then bail on us when things got messy. You think it's safer for him to be associated with me when the Alphas are in town than to cut and run? You think he'd spend this much time helping me get my shit together and making sure I was treating the rest of my pack right? He harassed me into calling Peter, who terrified him and once tried to kill him and everyone he loves, to be my second when I was ready to give the position to Scott because he knew Peter would be better for the pack."

"I don't trust him!"

"Well, I do, and I'm asking you to please let that be enough until you learn to trust him too."

"I trust him," Peter said suddenly, "If that helps."

They both turned to look at him. Derek couldn't tell if he was lying or not. He knew Peter didn't like it when Stiles told him what to do, but he always did it. That could be trust, or it could be him not causing more problems when they already had so many to deal with.

"You do?" Cora asked.

"Of course," Peter said.

"And you take orders from him," she said.

Peter shrugged. "He doesn't usually give them to me, but yes. When he does, I do. He's got a brain and he knows how to use it, which is more than can be said for most of this pack. I can respect that."

"Fine," Cora snarled, "Since both of you are convinced he's not a snake, I'll give him a chance, but I still don't like him."

"Oh, Jackson's the snake, love," Peter said, "not Stiles."


	16. Stiles

They actually held it together the next time the Alpha Pack attacked. There were a lot of injuries, and Stiles had to cram more people than he thought possible into his jeep to drive them to the vet because the Camero, the Toyota, and Peter's flashy car were all totaled and Jackson and Alli had gotten picked up today. But they hadn't lost. No one dead, no one kidnapped, and the Alphas had been the ones to run. Peter and Derek working together in a fight instead of against one another was... he'd say something like beautiful or glorious, but really, it had just been a bloodbath when they'd ripped into Ethan and Aiden's super-mega-alpha, and there was nothing nice about it. But they'd kicked ass, and that was a good thing. Cora had fit in pretty damned well with Erica, Isaac, and Boyd, which was a relief, since she mostly made things more tense instead of less, and Scotty and Jackson had this co-captain bond of awesome-ness and had actually managed to kick Kali around. Allison had stayed in Stiles' Mountain Ash ring with him and Lydia and fired off arrow after arrow, nipping away at the Alphas' stamina and slowing them up whenever they were about to land a critical hit on one of the pack. Which might not seem like much, but he was pretty sure it was one of the main reasons they didn't lose.

Mr. Argent had given Allison several jars of Mountain Ash without question when she'd asked, and Stiles had been practicing. So much that it was practically one of his tics when he was thinking. Tap his fingers, chew on his sleeve, play with anything and everything within arm's reach that wasn't nailed down, and drop Mountain Ash. Circle, line, circle, line, big circle, small circle, two circles, parallel lines, crossed lines. He didn't even have to think about it anymore. Certainly hadn't when he, Alli, and Lydia had gotten out of the car to unpack groceries and found themselves face to face with the Alpha pack. He'd dropped a ring around them and the jeep before his mind had done more than say holy freaking shit. Then he called Derek while Alli climbed into Roscoe to dig her bow and quiver out from under the grocery bags and the Alphas pressed at the barrier and growled.

And then the rest of the pack was out of the loft and barreling into them, and there was blood and howling and the thrum of Alli's bowstring and him keeping Lydia from having a panic attack because shit, this was her first time seeing the actual fighting since Peter attacked her at the dance. She'd seen the end results, but not the violence that created them, and Stiles was the only one who had nothing to do but keep her calm-ish and sane. And in the process, keep himself the same way, because there was a whole lot of mangling going on out there, and historically, they generally did not come out on top of this sort of encounter even if they'd been kicking ass at that moment.

Deucalion, though. That guy was scary as fuck. Stiles had been sure they'd lose when he'd wolfed out and taken out both Boyd and Isaac in maybe three seconds. It was lucky that he'd been sure his alpha-betas could trounce the pack without his help at first, because if they hadn't already taken Kali and the twins out before he got involved, they'd have lost for sure. As it was, they'd pretty much fought purely defense after that, but it didn't matter, because eventually, Deucalion and Ennis had given up and run, the other three hobbling after them as quickly as they could. And Stiles had really wished they hadn't let them all go, but Peter, Isaac, and Boyd were bleeding out, and the rest of them weren't in much better shape. Pursuing was not a good plan right now. It would mean splitting up, and that would get them all killed. The pack was only strong enough to take the Alphas when it was together. 

So, he'd put away the Mountain Ash barrier with a trick he'd taught himself that sort of swirled it all up and back into his jar, everyone had piled into the jeep on top of the groceries, and he'd driven to the vet with Lydia on his lap, steering, while he worked the pedals and the gear shift because there were too many people not to double or triple up in all the seats. And that had been an odd experience, but if he ever needed to do some sort of tandem driving thing to save the world in the future, he now had confirmation that he could do it without stalling his car. And his dad hadn't pulled them over, so that was a piece of good luck.

No one mentioned the Mountain Ash ring he'd made while they explained to Deaton what had been going on, but the man still shot him calculating looks that said he knew something was being left out, namely, Stiles' role in the whole ordeal, although Lydia hadn't done anything either. He sewed them all up, though, even the ones who weren't Scott, and didn't object when Stiles and Alli brought in some of the groceries and made everyone sandwiches. Fighting burned calories and healing required nutrients. Scott, who was the least injured of all the wolves, passed around chips and water bottles and made sure Lydia stayed under her shock blanket, which was Stiles' emergency blanket he kept in case Roscoe broke down in the winter and he had to wait for a tow, and that she drank small sips of water every few minutes. She kept trying to get up, even with Jackson falling asleep next to her, exhausted from the fight and healing his injuries. He'd gone wolf today instead of kanima, probably because the wolf shift took less concentration and came faster. The kanima would have been more useful, paralysis and all, but it didn't matter, and Stiles wasn't going to berate him for it. He'd been there, he'd fought hard, and they'd all survived. There was no point in what-iffing.

Cora's glare when she took the turkey and roast beef sandwich he offered her was a touch less venomous than usual, but he was chalking that up to fatigue and coming down from an adrenaline high. If she was less of a stone cold bitch to him when she was all healed and rested up, maybe he'd take it a little more seriously. She sat in the chair next to the table Peter was still lying on and ate her food without saying a word. Stiles handed her a plate with Peter's food for when he'd healed enough to eat it. His stomach had been torn open pretty badly, and Deaton said it had to mend more before they could safely put anything in it. She took the plate and didn't acknowledge him when he told her not to give it to Peter for at least fifteen more minutes, but he figured she'd heard him and didn't want to hurt her uncle, so who cared if she gave Stiles the cold shoulder.

Okay, he cared a little. This was Derek's sister, and he knew Derek really wanted them to get along. And Stiles was trying, but he didn't know what her problem with him was, and she refused to say. He'd asked point blank. But he was going to keep trying because she was important to Derek, his only living sister, although living relatives of his seemed to be popping out of the ground on a yearly basis, pun not intended but still funny, and Stiles wanted Derek to be happy. Enough to suck up to his snotty younger sister. A little anyway. He wasn't going to grovel. She hadn't earned that. Once she proved that Derek was as important to her as she was to him, and Stiles still hadn't seen evidence of that even if she did seem to love him, then maybe he'd consider groveling.

He brought Derek his sandwich last and sat on the floor next to him, pressed into his side, munching on an apple. He didn't think he could eat a sandwich right now without puking immediately after. Stomach was all in knots. Alli sat on Stiles' other side and leaned against him. He handed her his unopened water bottle and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, reaching up to run his hand over her hair every now and then while she obediently took sips. Maybe, he should find her a blanket too. She didn't feel cold or clammy, though, and her breathing was normal, so maybe she just needed to get herself together. This was the first real fight she'd participated in, post-Gerard, although she'd seen whatever went down in the bank. It probably brought up some of the bad memories and emotions she was still dealing with. Probably a little physical contact would help. He offered her half of his apple, and she took it, even though his spit was all over it and that was a little gross, and handed him the water, which he took a drink from even though it was covered in her spit. Because what was a little platonic spit transfer between friends?

He could feel Derek watching the interaction, even if he wasn't saying anything, and then his arm came around Stiles shoulders so his hand could settle on the back of Alli's neck. She tensed for a second but didn't shake him off and then relaxed and Stiles could feel Derek relax a little too. This was a big step. They were bonding. Like pack. Derek was willingly bonding with Allison, who'd tried to kill him and his betas less than a year ago. He was offering her comfort as her alpha, and she wasn't rejecting it. She was bonding back. And Stiles hadn't even been sneakily pushing either of them in that direction. They were doing it of their own accord. He glanced up at Scott, who was watching the three of them with a slightly pained expression on his face, but he didn't look mad or upset, just sad and kind of confused.

It was still light out when they left. Which was weird. The fight had happened in broad daylight in the middle of the street, and it still wasn't dinner time. His dad was still at work, and he wouldn't even be calling to check in for another hour or two. It felt like it should be three am and he'd missed six increasingly angry and worried calls and ten texts, but it wasn't and he hadn't. They all piled into Roscoe, this time with Allison on his lap since Lydia wanted to be next to Jackson, and retrospectively, having her steer while she'd been going into shock had not been the best idea he'd ever had, but in his defense, he hadn't realized her condition at the time. He'd been focused on the members of the pack suffering from gaping wounds and blunt force trauma. Turned out, he was just as good at tandem driving with Alli as he was with a shocky Lydia. Maybe, it was his calling.

Stiles walked Allison to her door, carrying her bow and quiver, which was full of bloody and broken arrows she'd picked up after the fight, and her purse, because she was shaky now that she was home. Silent tears were running down her face, and she was seconds from a meltdown. She'd held it together during the fight, the trip to the animal clinic, and the car ride, but now she was home, and she was losing her grip. He took the keys from her hand when she made no move to open the door and did it for her, nudging her inside.

He set down the bow and her purse as soon as they were through the door so he could wrap his arms around her. She just tucked her face into his shoulder and kept crying her silent tears. He could feel her shoulders shaking and hear her harsh breathing. He dug out his phone and was just starting to text her dad because somehow raising his voice to call for him seemed wrong when Argent appeared in the entryway.

"Allison, are you home?" he asked as he turned the corner, "I heard the door. Shit, what happened?"

Argent rushed over, and Allison turned to hang onto him without prompting from Stiles.

"What happened?" Argent demanded again, hugging her and trying to get a look at her face, "Allison, sweetheart, are you okay? Stiles?"

"The Alphas attacked us at the loft," Stiles said, "None of us were killed, and she wasn't injured. I think it was just a little... I think it maybe brought up some bad memories. She helped with the fighting. A lot. She was amazing. You were amazing, Alli, and you didn't hurt anybody who wasn't actively trying to kill someone who didn't deserve it."

Argent nodded. "Thank you for bringing her home."

"Yeah. I'm going to go now, though. I've got like ten injured people and a strawberry-blonde goddess jammed in my jeep, so... I'll call you later to check in, alright, Alli?"

Stiles patted her on the shoulder, dropped her keys on the little table by the door, and left.

Scotty had been shuffled out of the back seat to drive with him this time because he was the next smallest other than Lydia, who wouldn't be separated from Jackson. He was a lot heavier than either of the girls, but being close to him was natural like breathing, and it was almost a relief even if Stiles' legs were going a little numb. They dropped off Jackson and Lydia next, both at Lydia's house, and Stiles passed her one of his jars of Mountain Ash as she went inside. She knew how to use it even if she wasn't as good at it as he was, and he wanted her to have some sort of extra protection in case the Alpha pack came looking for revenge while the pack was still recovering. She took it without a word, but she kissed him on the cheek and let Jackson close the door behind them. 

With only eight of them in Roscoe now, he didn't have to double up anymore. Derek was in the passenger seat with Cora asleep on his lap, and Erica and Scott were sprawled across Peter, Isaac, and Boyd, all of them dozing a little. Yeah, coming down from an adrenaline high really knocked you out. There was blood on his seats and the squashed remains of the groceries on the floor under everyone's feet. They'd probably have to go out again, but whatever. No one was dead. Thawed chicken that had to be cooked and eaten in a day or two rather than lasting a couple of weeks wasn't the end of the world. The ride back to the loft was quiet, but Stiles let it stay that way because for once, his mind wasn't demanding that he make noise or flooding the silence in his head with horrible things. It was just quiet, and one thing was running through it. Get everyone home. So, maybe he was coming off an adrenaline rush too.

He and Derek herded everyone into the loft, where they all sort of collapsed on the couch or the bed, and then went back out to push the totaled cars out of the street. Well, Derek pushed. Stiles steered as best he could. And Derek pushing the cars by himself was crazy hot, but Stiles didn't really have the energy to come up with lewd commentary, so he just appreciated the view. There was nothing they could do about the blood and broken glass, but they picked up any arrow bits Alli had missed earlier and brought them inside. Just like they were on a tv show trying to cover up a crime. Policing their brass. Although, in this case, it was wood and feather and high-grade steel.

Stiles dumped his handful of arrow bits on the table and hopped up next to them with a sigh. He could sleep for like twelve hours, but Dad was going to call and check on him in fifteen minutes, so he had to wait until after that. Then he could nap. Derek came to stand between his legs and nuzzle his throat, giving him gentle kisses and sucking small hickeys there was no way he could cover up. Mmm. That was nice. He slid his arms up onto Derek's shoulders, feeling the solid muscle and ignoring the crustiness of dried blood and ragged edges where claws had torn his shirt. It was amazing any of the wolves were clothed at all. Peter was shirtless, actually, and Isaac was wearing a pair of sweatpants Stiles had found in the back of his jeep since his jeans had had to be cut off him. They were a little too short, but the guy was ludicrously tall. Stiles was not a short guy, okay? He was like, five-ten. That was not short. Isaac was just taller.

"I should do a ring of Mountain Ash around the loft tonight," Stiles heard himself say, "so everyone can get some rest without worrying about being attacked."

"If you want," Derek said, breath warm on Stiles' neck.

"But I gotta go home tonight. Melissa will be okay alone in her house. She's got Mountain Ash walls and whatever that Deaton put in for her. But Dad's got nothing. I mean, I ran a line when I left this morning, but I didn't close it, just in case any of you guys needed to come in, and I don't think I can close it from here. Even if I could, I wouldn't know unless I went and checked, and if I'm gonna go there to check, I might as well just go home for the night. I could come back in the morning to let you guys out."

"I'll come with you," Derek said, "You shouldn't be alone."

"Dude, I would love that, but I think it might be best if you stayed here. That was a pretty big fight. Having the Alpha around will probably keep everyone settled better, help them recover."

"They'll be fine. They'll have each other."

"But--"

"Stiles," Derek said, "Shut up. I'm coming home with you."

"Then we'll have to get there before my dad gets home from work, which means we'll have to leave in like an hour at the latest. Are you sure you shouldn't stay? Waking up to find you gone might scare them. They might think something bad happened. And the Mountain Ash. They won't be able to leave."

"We'll leave a note, and they can call us to check we're okay. You can text Scott's mom to tell her he's staying here for the night. Erica and Boyd already have blanket permission on weekends."

"But--"

"Stiles. Peter will look after them. It'll be fine." He leaned closer so his body was pressed against Stiles'. "And if we go now, I can fuck you a few times before your dad gets home."

"Oh, my god. How do you have the energy for sex right now?" Stiles asked, but he knew the answer. Fighting got Derek hot and bothered.

"I'm the Alpha," Derek said, "And we just won a fight. Against five Alphas. There's so much testosterone in my system right now it could probably kill someone. I've been fighting the urge to pin you down and fuck you since the moment Deucalion turned tail and ran."

"Well, you hid it very well."

"Well, I don't want to anymore."

"Fine. Take me home, but I'm exhausted, so you'd better be prepared to do all the work."

"I am very prepared to do that."

"Will you two leave already?" Peter said from the bed where he was wedged between Cora and Isaac, "If I have to hear you talk about sex for one more second instead of just doing it, I'm going to strangle myself, and I've just survived a particularly painful disembowelment. I'd like to enjoy the feeling for more than two hours."

"God, yes," Erica agreed from the couch, "Just screw already. Why do you have to discuss it so much beforehand? If you're not negotiating kinks and safe-words, you're just wasting time."

"And please go do it somewhere I can't hear," Scott added.


	17. Stiles

The next rash of dead bodies turned up shortly after the fight, and Chris Argent came by the loft with the notes from his investigation to tell them he'd at least figured out what was killing people, something called a Darach, even if he hadn't figured out why or what specifically it was after other than sixteen trillion gigawatts of power. He, Stiles, Peter, Lydia, and Boyd remade Stiles' entire case in light of the new revelations. The good news was that they had an idea how many more people where going to die and sort of what sorts of people. The bad news was that it was a lot of people and a large pool of them to pull from. This wasn't like protecting Lydia from Derek or the wolves from psycho Gerard Argent. They didn't know who their enemy was or which of a thousand targets it was going to aim for. And this person was human, okay? Mountain Ash wouldn't do shit against them. And that was the closest thing they had to a protective force field.

And of course, there was still the Alpha pack. They hadn't left, but they were regrouping and most definitely plotting their revenge. The pack didn't know where they were hiding anymore, and the twins weren't coming to school, which meant a preliminary offensive strike was out of the question. Stiles didn't think that was a great idea anyway. Even with Peter and Derek and Jackson getting better with his Kanima, the pack was still more a defensive unit than an offensive one. Cora might have it in her to kill, and Stiles might if he were willing to have a weapon that wasn't his bat, but the rest of them didn't, and Stiles had gotten his dad fired once already. He wasn't going to be caught anywhere with a firearm or a knife or a bow or any other exotic sort of weaponry the Argents had in their arsenal. 

Even if he could shoot a gun. He wasn't great at it, but he knew how, and he had passed the concealed carry test, although he didn't have the permit. Dad had taught him when he was twelve in case anyone broke in while he was at work and Stiles was home alone, but it wasn't something he practiced, and he wasn't going to start carrying. In fact, the only person in the pack who even knew he knew how was Scott, and Stiles had asked him not to say anything. And no one really brought up the fact that he couldn't fight, not even Derek, who was hellbent on getting his betas trained as best he could before the next attack, or Peter, who side-eyed Stiles every time he was teaching them new tricks for goring and maiming people.

Besides, Lydia didn't know how either, and no one was trying to make her learn. She and Stiles could be dainty ladies together and let the big, rough, muscle-y types do their fighting for them. They were here to do the brainwork. Although, honestly, it wouldn't surprise him if Lydia pulled like seven black belts in karate out of nowhere and kicked all their asses. He didn't think she was going to, but he wouldn't put anything past her capabilities. He was one hundred percent in love with Derek, but Lydia would never not be a goddess before whom he bowed and payed homage.

They seemed to be making progress, and so of course, it all came crashing down, suddenly and horribly. 

When the Darach got around to murdering its three doctors, Deaton was apparently on her list, and Scott and Isaac discovered him missing when they went into work. They tracked him to the same bank the Alpha pack had once holed up in of all places, and called the pack when they couldn't get through a Mountain Ash ring. Stiles, Peter, Alli, and Erica had gone to help, had gotten Deaton down from where he was hung up by his wrists and bleeding, and had gotten him to the hospital. And then the wolves heard Lydia scream from clear over at the loft.

By the time they got there, Jackson was dead on the floor, and Derek was staring at his bloody hands like nothing in the world was ever going to be okay again. Boyd explained from where he was laying against the wall, holding in his guts and waiting for his shin bones to heal. Deucalion had shown up with Kali and Aiden to make Derek do what he'd been trying to get him to do since he'd arrived in Beacon Hills. Kill one of his betas. He'd said that an Alpha absorbed their betas' power when they killed them and got stronger, and now that Derek had killed one and knew what it felt like, he would kill the rest on his own. Derek, Cora, Boyd, Jackson, and Lydia hadn't been a match for them. Aiden had forced Derek's claws out, and Kali had shoved Jackson onto them. He'd been dead before he hit the floor and Lydia had started screaming. It had been so loud that the windows cracked, and Deucalion, Kali, and Aiden had run away. 

And Derek was crushed. He just stared at his hands and the blood. The look on his face... shit. Fuck. God damn fuck Deucalion to hell. If Stiles could have killed him with his bare hands, he would have and not felt a thing other than satisfaction. But he couldn't. He didn't know where the fucker was, and even if he did, he couldn't take him. But this... this was not going to go unanswered. They'd killed Jackson. Worse, they'd made Derek do it, and causing the deaths of the people he loved was Derek's biggest fear. Someone was going to pay. Someone had to pay. And Stiles did know where one of the Alphas was.

He gestured to Isaac to take his place kneeling next to Derek, holding onto him, and slipped away to let the boy take over. Isaac was the most attuned to Derek's emotions other than Peter. He could help sooth the pain and the guilt.

"Scott," Stiles said quietly, "Stay here and help Alli look after Lydia. You're in charge. Cora, cover Jackson up with something and help Isaac with Derek. The rest of you, come with me."

"Where are you going?" Scott asked.

"Just look after them," Stiles said, "and trust me."

Scott stared at him for a moment like he knew what he was thinking and then nodded. So, he probably didn't know what Stiles was thinking. That was for the best. Erica, Boyd, and Peter followed Stiles down to the street and climbed into Roscoe without saying a word. No one asked until they were sure they were out of earshot.

"Well?" Peter said.

"Ennis is lurking around Lydia's neighborhood. I think he's looking for an opportunity to jump her or to figure out what exactly she is."

"Ah," Peter said. After that the only sound in the car was the rumble of Roscoe's engines and Stiles' fingers drumming on the steering wheel.

Stiles brought his bat, but he didn't end up using it. Losing a friend apparently made Boyd and Erica as vicious as it was making him feel inside. And Peter was always ferocious. Ennis went down hard, Erica literally tearing his left arm from his body, and Boyd went for the kill.

"Boyd. No." Stiles said. And Boyd stopped.

"Why not?" he asked.

"Because you're Derek's heir. If he dies, you're up to bat." Stiles turned to Peter. "Don't make me regret this."

Peter didn't hesitate for a second. His claws were out and ripping into Ennis' heart by the time the last word left Stiles' mouth. Then his eyes flared a deep blood red and he roared so loud the ground shook, and Stiles hoped like hell he hadn't just signed Derek's death warrant. This was either a huge mistake or a stroke of brilliance. There wasn't going to be a middle ground. Erica and Boyd stepped back, wolfed out and wary, as Peter calmly wiped his hands off on Ennis' shirt. He straightened and walked over to Stiles without blinking. Creepy, as always.

"Peter?" Stiles said, "You haven't gone back to being psycho-killer Peter, have you?"

Peter grinned, grabbed Stiles by the hair and the shoulder, yanked his head to the side and sank his teeth into Stiles' neck. Stiles screamed, and then Peter unclenched his jaw and began to lap at the bite in long, slow strokes. It stung. Stiles shoved at his shoulders, which did nothing. Erica and Boyd were too shocked to react.

"You better not have turned me, you fucker," Stiles said, his voice high and panicky, "You know I'm more of an asset human."

"Relax," Peter said like he hadn't just taken a chomp out of Stiles' jugular and wasn't licking blood off his neck, "It's not the bite. You belong to the Hale pack. You should be marked by both its alphas."

"Dude, this better not turn into a power struggle," Stiles said, "I did not do this just to have you try to take Derek's pack from him."

"I know," Peter said, "You were leveling the playing field."

"Well, I wouldn't call it level just yet," Stiles said, "and revenge had a lot to do with it."

"You always were a champion multi-tasker." Peter finally stepped back, and Erica and Boyd came out of their shocked trances and got between him and Stiles. Like they stood a fucking chance of stopping him if he attacked for real. 

"Seriously, dude. I'm serious about you not trying to screw Derek over. I will find a way to kill you." Stiles' neck twinged. "Shit, this hurts. Where's my first aid kit? I need like, so much anti-biotic ointment. Gross."

Erica got the kit, smeared some bacitracin on the bite, and taped a piece of gauze over it, which made Peter huff, while Boyd tucked Ennis' body under some bushes. Then they got in the jeep and went back to the loft. Because there was nothing else to do. Peter sang along with the radio the whole way. He actually had a nice voice. But that didn't mean he wasn't planning on killing them all and starting the Hale pack from scratch. God, this was probably the biggest mistake Stiles had ever made. 

Everyone stiffened and sniffed the air when they walked in. And every single eye except for Lydia and Allison's locked onto Peter. Derek's head came up. He was sitting on the couch, with Isaac and Cora wrapped around him. Someone had washed the blood off his hands and changed his shirt, and Stiles couldn't see Jackson's body anywhere, so they must have moved it. That was good. They'd need to come up with a story to explain away his death. Probably generate a crime scene too. Great. Now he knew how he was going to be spending his evening. After they sorted out the double alpha debacle, of course, because if this went wrong, he might be dead too.

Derek stood up as Peter sauntered over to him. His face was grim. His uncle's was taunting, his blood eyes flashing at Derek's red hots. They were brighter now. Derek's eyes. They'd been bright before, but they were even brighter now. Like fire. He was going to be able to see what Deucalion had done to him every time he saw them, and that was fucking awful right there. But not as awful as it'd be if Peter challenged him and he had to kill him again. Not as awful as it would be if Stiles had done that to him. He really hoped he hadn't done that to him. Please let him not have done that to him. He didn't even care if Peter just up and bailed at this point as long as he didn't challenge.

The two Alphas stared at each other for a long time, and Stiles could feel his heartbeat rocketing out of control. They were going to fight. Peter was going to challenge Derek, and they were going to fight. Derek was going to kill two of his own in one day, and the second one was going to be Stiles' fault. And that was something Derek would never forgive him for. That was something Stiles would never forgive himself for. Because he was supposed to look out for Derek. He was supposed to protect him. He was not supposed to force him to kill his family.

And then Peter bared his throat.

Shock and disbelief flooded Derek's face, and he just stared.

Peter let out what could only be called a whine, very soft, and reached up to catch Derek's chin and pull it an inch or two toward his neck. Submitting. He was submitting. Not just submitting. He was literally asking Derek to dominate him. He was... the only word Stiles could come up with for it was pleading.

So, Derek leaned down and bit him on the neck. 

And Peter didn't take the opportunity to rip Derek's throat out. He just let him do it.

Stiles' legs collapsed under him, but Boyd caught him before he hit the ground, hauled him back up, and held him there while Stiles clung to his shirt in relief. He hadn't fucked this up. At least, not in the worst way it could be fucked up. There were still a lot of ways this could go wrong, and Derek still might never forgive him, but Peter wasn't challenging. Stiles hadn't forced Derek to kill his uncle a second time. And they had a second Alpha in the pack. Two and some betas against four alphas. Not level, but a hell of a lot closer.

Derek was approaching him now, eyes so bright and fiery they hurt to look at, and Boyd's grip was like steel. There was no getting away. Whatever Derek's reaction was, Stiles was going to face it. And he wasn't even sure Scott would do a damn thing to help him if the reaction was bad. Because Stiles had just made Peter an alpha again.

He held very still, gaze on Dereks' face, while Derek stood in front of him and stared at him. Words rushed into his head and tried to come flooding out his mouth, but he clenched his teeth and kept them in. His heart was not slowing down, and Stiles was honestly surprised he wasn't hyperventilating already. Wait, was he? No, he wasn't. His breathing was fast, but not in the danger zone. His heart rate was in the danger zone, and the rest of him was in the Danger, You May Be About To Get Your Head Torn Off By Your Pissed Off Boyfriend Slash Alpha Zone. It was not the best place to be.

After a long time, Derek reached up and pulled the gauze off Stiles' neck. Stared at the bite. Then he leaned down, latched his mouth over it, and sucked hard. Stiles couldn't hold back a squeal of pain or keep from flinching away, but Boyd was still holding him by the arms, and Derek now had him by the back of the head and the waist. Somewhere behind Derek, Scott growled warningly and Peter growled at Scott. Derek sucked and licked at the bite until he was maybe satisfied that he'd re-staked his prior claim to Stile's neck and everything attached to it, then pulled back to wipe the tears off Stiles' cheeks gently and kiss him on the mouth. His tongue tasted like blood and Bacitracin. Gross. And that might not just be Stiles' own blood he was tasting. Some of it might be Peter's. Double gross. No, like at least quadruple gross.

"Which one?" Derek asked when he pulled back.

"Ennis," Stiles said, "I knew where to look for him."

"You should have talked to me first."

Stiles winced. "I didn't want to wait for them to circle the wagons. They had to figure we'd want revenge, but they also had to expect us to take the time to recover and plan before we tried to take it. If we'd waited, he wouldn't have been out alone."

"And now we have a second Alpha." Derek didn't sound happy about that.

"It had to be Peter," Stiles said, "None of the rest of them could handle that kind of power boost, not even Scott."

"And if he submitted, I'd be an Alpha with an Alpha as my first beta, and I would get a power boost from that."

"Well, yeah."

"Do you have any idea what a double boost is doing to me right now? Jackson and Peter in one day. Do you know what it's doing to me?"

"We couldn't wait. It had to be now or they'd be too guarded and we'd be down a player. We barely won the last time they attacked. We might not if they attacked us without Jackson. Now they have one fewer alpha, and we have two."

"I get the logic, Stiles," Derek ground out, "I read those damned strategy books you gave me. I get why you did it. I'm asking if you know what this is doing to me?"

"No, I don't."

"I could take a cluster of wolfsbane bullets to the chest right now and it wouldn't slow me down. I'd heal without help. I could push through a Mountain Ash barrier like it wasn't even there. You could run enough watts through me to power the entire city for a week and I'd walk away without twitching."

"That doesn't sound too bad," Stiles said.

"There is so much energy in my system right now that it feels like my skin is going to burn off. My wolf is so amped up it's forcing me out of my own mind, and do you know what it wants?"

"I'm going to guess some form of maiming or mangling might be on the list."

Derek leaned down to lick the bite on Stiles' neck again. "It wants to assert its claim on you. This is someone else's mark. Even if he's mine, it's someone else's mark. An Alpha's mark. You smell like Scott."

"I always smell like Scott." Stiles always smelled like Scott, and Derek never had a problem with it.

"It's someone else's mark," Derek growled, "and Deaton claims he's a True Alpha, or very nearly. Do you realize you have two other Alpha's marks on you right now?"

"Okay, but the biting thing was not my idea. I told Peter to kill Ennis. I did not tell him to follow up by taking a chomp out of me. Also, if you're this... like this with Peter in your pack as an alpha, what'd happen if Scott became an alpha too and submitted to you?"

"I don't know. But I'd probably fuck you a lot harder than I'm about to."

"Derek."

"All this energy has to go somewhere, and we're in no condition for a fight. And I want you. Peter, go to Chris Argent and get him to help with Jackson. Have Allison close the Mountain Ash ring around Stiles' house, and then take everyone to Scott's and lay low for the next couple days. Scott, get Stiles' dad's permission for him to stay over. If I'm not done by monday, make up some excuse for the school."

"You don't think you'll be done by monday?" Stiles' voice could have cracked glass if there had been a single piece of it in the loft that Lydia hadn't already shattered. And that right there narrowed the possibilities of what she was down to one. Banshee. He just didn't know exactly what that entailed yet.

"I don't think you understand how much this is affecting my system, Stiles. If I'm done by monday, it'll be because I've decided to find another way to handle the rest of it. All of you, out. Now. Or you're going to see something you'd rather not."

"I'd like to see it," Erica muttered as they all made beelines for the door.

"Don't forget to keep him hydrated, Derek," Peter said, pushing her out of the loft.

Derek snarled, but the only thing that was left was the sound of Peter's laughter following him out the door.

And then Derek was backing Stiles towards the bed, eyes still burning red, fangs still dropped.

"You sure you want to do this here?" Stiles asked. Jackson had just died here. Derek might benefit from a little physical distance even if the blood had been cleaned up.

"I'm sure." Derek's hands shoved down the back of Stiles' jeans to grab his ass. "Gonna cover up the bad memories with good ones."

"You sure you aren't doing this because you're mad?" Stiles looped his arms around Derek's neck and his legs around his waist when he lifted him off the floor.

"I'm not mad," Derek said, "Well, I am, but not at you. This isn't about that. It's not about Peter or the Alphas or about Jackson. This is about you and me and how much I want you, how much I love you. And how much this double power boost is going to make fucking you even better than it always is, for both of us."

Derek kissed him breathless as he lowered them onto the bed, his weight pressing Stiles into the mattress.

"Your super jizz isn't going to turn me or knock me up, is it?" Stiles squeaked out as Derek tore his jeans and boxers off. Shit. He'd liked those jeans. Oh, well. At least he'd lost them to a good cause.

"No, don't be an idiot." Derek pushed Stiles' thighs open and just stared, lust written all over his face, his eyes burning red. It was so hot, Stiles felt himself harden the rest of the way and start to leak on his stomach. Derek growled deep in his chest.

"Hey, you never know," Stiles was babbling now because this was so damn hot, "This is uncharted territory. For me anyway. I'm assuming for you too, but maybe you've heard about this sort of thing before. You've heard about a lot of things, and I haven't had time to ask you about them all. So this could be charted territory for you, even if the chart came from someone else and not from first hand experie- Ah!"

Derek had skipped straight over one finger and started with two and a lot of lube. 

Stiles couldn't put together a sentence for a long time after that.


	18. Stiles

The only reason Stiles was on his feet when he got to school on monday was because Scott was supporting more than half his weight. Like at least three-quarters of it. He had to be there, though. Dad had said Stiles could stay at Scott's for the weekend, but if he wasn't at school on monday, he wouldn't be allowed to stay over spur of the moment anymore, and his dad would institute a system wherein sleepovers had to be applied for and approved at least a month in advance. And violations would result in confiscation of Roscoe privileges. And Stiles would have to take the bus. Stiles may have been cutting class a little too often to work on the Darach problem and the Alpha pack problem. Whatever, his grades were fine. Well, his test scores were, and his homework was usually done. His grades were fine. Scott's were not, but his were. But Dad was worried they'd slip.

So, here he was at school, kept upright by a convenient bro-hug, and reminding himself that he had to at least pretend to move his legs when he was supposed to be walking even though he couldn't really feel them. Someone was going to have to pain-drain him during class, or he'd never be able to sit. His ass was sore and used. In the best way, but yeah. Like super worked over. And yes, he had topped a couple times during The Weekend Of SO MUCH SEX, but his dick couldn't stay hard indefinitely and Derek's amped-up alpha-dick could, so he'd spent ninety-seven percent of the penetrative sex taking it. Which he really didn't mind. At all. It had been a while since he'd had Derek to himself for more than a few hours at a time. He'd missed it. The sex and the weirdly intense conversations that happened before and after and now apparently during when they were coherent enough for it. Which wasn't super often, but did happen. But the point was, sitting was kind of a no-go for him right now, unless he was willing to be doped up pretty good.

Scott had had to drive Roscoe to school because Stiles couldn't and everyone else ground his gears and Roscoe was a delicate lady just like Stiles and Lydia, and Stiles had ended up laying across Boyd, Isaac, and Erica's laps in the back while Erica laughed at him and Alli and Lydia shared the front seat. Peter had procured a rental car for himself and driven to the loft to get Stiles on sunday night, and he'd returned there as soon as he'd dropped him off at Scott's. Cora had gone with him, and she hadn't even glared at Stiles when she left.

The warm fuzzies from the weekend only lasted so long, though. Because Jackson wasn't there. He was missing from class. He was missing from the lunch table. From the hallways. From the locker room. Because he was dead. And there was a big, gaping hole where he was supposed to be. Lydia cried all day, and she would only let Allison hug her, so the rest of them could only sit there helplessly and get tissues or hand her her compact when she decided she needed to fix her make up. She did let Stiles hold her hand in the class only the two of them had together, but as soon as it was over, she went straight back to Alli. He didn't take it personally.

Instead, he tracked down Danny to see how he was doing. Jackson was Danny's Scott. And he was dead. Danny dragged Stiles into the nearest bathroom, a girl's bathroom, and ordered all the girls inside to leave. Which they did. Because everyone loved Danny, and Danny had just lost Jackson. If he wanted to talk to Stiles privately in the ladies' room, they were going to go use a different one. Stiles was just glad his ability to stand had returned even if just barely. It had actually returned around lunch time, but then Derek had shown up to drag Stiles away from his mystery meat and into coach's office and had fucked him straight through lunch and his study hall, which came right after and none of the teachers cared if you skipped, and Scott had had to come get him and carry him to his next class. But he'd regained sensation in his legs again during last period, and while they were far from steady, he could hold himself up.

"What really happened?" Danny demanded. 

Chris Argent had come up with a plausible explanation for Jackson's wounds and a fake crime scene within minutes of Peter showing up on his doorstep. Hunters got killed by werewolves all the time. They knew how to cover it up. But Stiles didn't know if he could feed Danny a line about animal attacks in the woods. This was his Scott. Jackson was Danny's Scott, and he was dead.

"Not the bullshit they're saying on the news," Danny said when Stiles was quiet for too long, "You know the truth, Stilinski. I want to know. I need to know."

"I can't. I'm sorry, Danny. I can't tell you, and I can't lie to you. I mean, I can. But... I can't." Because Danny did not deserve that, but Stiles couldn't betray the pack.

"But you know who did it?" Danny asked.

Stiles nodded. You couldn't overhear a nod.

"And you're going to fix it?"

"No one can fix it."

"But you're going to fix them? The person who did it?"

Stiles nodded.

"I want in," Danny said, "I don't want the bite, but I want in."

Wait, what?

"What did you just say?" Stiles choked out.

"I don't want the bite, but I want in. I want to help. It's Jackson, Stiles. They killed Jackson. I get to do this."

Stiles gawked. "You know about werewolves?"

Danny blinked. "He didn't tell you?"

"Jackson?"

"No, Derek. He didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what?" Stiles asked, because as far as he knew, the only interaction Danny and Derek had ever had was the striptease when Stiles was trying to get Danny to trace that text.

"About the talk I had with him after I found out you two were having sex," Danny said like this was something Stiles should know.

"Wait- you- what?!"

Danny shrugged. "What was I supposed to do? Scott was out of town, and Hale was fucking you so hard and so often that you couldn't sit and you weren't sure you could tell him to ease up. Someone had to have a talk with him."

"How did you know it was- You shovel-talked an alpha werewolf for me?" Stiles felt his eyes bugging out but he couldn't have stopped it if he'd tried. Not that he cared enough to try.

"Shit, he's an alpha?" Danny shoved a hand through his hair. "Shit! I'm lucky I didn't get my head ripped off."

"He wouldn't," Stiles said, "You were protecting me. He likes it when people do that."

"Well, then that's one more reason for him to let me help with this."

"I'll talk to him."

"Tell him that if he says no, that thing I said was going to happen if he hurt you is going to happen."

"Oh, my god, you want me to threaten him for you. Okay."

"I better hear from you today." Danny went quiet for a few seconds. "And I need to know... was Ethan involved?"

"I don't know," Stiles said, "but Aiden was."

Danny sagged back against the sink, and his face crumpled. Shit. Shit shit shit. Stiles, you idiot. He did not need to know that his boyfriend's brother, and maybe his boyfriend himself, had helped murder his best friend. Stiles was fucking this up royally, but the damage was done, and he couldn't undo it. So, he just hugged Danny and let him cry because there was nothing else he could do right now. The lack of girls trying to come in to pee or fix their hair told him someone was outside making sure they weren't disturbed. He hoped it wasn't Scott, or he'd end up in detention even if school was technically over for the day. In the meantime, he pulled out his phone and texted Derek: Danny's in. Like it or lump it. It's happening. And a few seconds later Derek texted back: Ok. 

There was one more person squashed in Roscoe's back seat on the way to the Peter's apartment, and Derek must have explained things to Peter and Cora, because neither of them said a word about it. Derek had decided to move the pack's main base of operations out of the loft for a while because Lydia wouldn't set foot through the door, and the rest of them had agreed that they maybe didn't want to be right there where Jackson had died all the time. So, Derek, Isaac, and Cora had moved in with Peter, and everyone was going to meet at his place until the whole thing was a little less raw. And Stiles was not going to think too hard about how he was going to explain to his dad why he was hanging out in the apartment of a thirty-something year old man who'd once dated Melissa. At least, not beyond coming up with an excuse and dreading the day he had to use it.

The apartment wasn't very big, two bedrooms, one bathroom, a kitchen and dining area, and a sitting room, but they all fit, so no one cared. Stiles ended up on Derek's lap in the corner of the couch with Isaac, Scott, and Cora squished on the rest of it. Allison, Lydia, and Danny took the loveseat, and Erica and Boyd stretched out on the floor. Peter dragged in a chair from the kitchen. There was a long moment of awkward silence until finally, Stiles had to break it.

"So, Danny," he said, "you know how to use Mountain Ash?"

"What's Mountain Ash?" Danny asked.

"This." Stiles nudged Isaac with his toe, and the beta stood up obediently so Stiles could drop a ring around him. Then Isaac pushed against it so it lit up and Danny could see.

"Whoa," Danny said, "How did you do that?"

"It's not too hard." Stiles cleared the ring with a wave of his hand and capped the bottle. "I'll teach you. If you're not getting the bite, you're gonna need it for protection." 

Isaac sat back down, and Stiles reached over to pet his hair automatically when he leaned against Derek's side.

"I don't want the bite," Danny said, "I don't think I could handle the hunters."

"You don't have to have the bite to be pack," Derek said.

"Stiles, I've been meaning to ask," Peter said, "How did you learn to gather the Mountain Ash after you've laid it down? I've never seen anyone do that."

Stiles shrugged. "I made it up. It seemed logical. If you can drop it and have it fall however you want, why couldn't you pick it up again the same way? I only had like a handful of the stuff for a long time, and I couldn't waste it. So I just... figured it out. You know, trial and error. Lydia's almost got the hang of it now too."

"It's super cool," Scott said, and Stiles grinned at him. Man, he needed some bro time with Scotty. Jackson dying... it made him realize that he and Scott hadn't spent time together outside of class that wasn't pack time in months. And that sucked, because he loved Scott.

Having a lot of friends was hard. It was good too. Totally worth it. He wasn't complaining. But it was hard. 

When it had just been Scott, there had only been four people, five if you counted Lydia, whose happiness and well-being he cared about. His, Dad's, Scott's and Melissa's. Now, Stiles had the entire pack to think about, and lately Allison in particular had been leaning on him. Not romantically, but as friends. He was pretty sure someone had gotten around to telling her his mother was dead too, rather than gone for other reasons, and she'd seen someone who could relate to her. And Stiles adored Alli. She was gorgeous and sweet and way more fragile than her badass-ery made it seem. He wanted to help her in any way he could because she was grieving and wracked with guilt over the Gerard thing still, and she was his friend. So, he spent the extra time he would normally spend with Scott with her instead, talking and trying to help her cope, and at this point, other than Scott and Derek, she knew him better than anyone else in the pack.

And Scott saw what was going on and didn't complain, even though he wasn't over Allison yet. Not even close. Because Scotty was the best, and he would rather she have someone to lean on when she was going through hard shit even if it wasn't him. And Derek, whose mother was also dead, didn't say a word either.

But Stiles missed hanging out with Scott. That was his best friend. His brother. And he felt like they hadn't had time to catch up on one another's lives in ages. He should have him over for pizza and game night sometime soon. Dad would like that too. God, he needed to figure something out with his dad. He knew something was going on, knew Stiles was hiding something big from him, but he was so busy trying to figure out the Darach murders that he didn't have time to press. And since Stiles wasn't turning up hurt and hadn't shown up at every single crime scene so far, just a few, he hadn't found the time yet. But sooner or later, he was going to find it, and then Stiles was going to lie to him, and he was going to know he was lying, even if he didn't know what the truth was, and get that disappointed look on his face. And probably drink too much Jack after Stiles went to bed. Derek's hand tightened on his thigh a little, pulling him out of his thoughts. Shit, he probably smelled like such a downer right now.

They made a half-hearted attempt to talk about pack shit and the Alphas and the Darach, but there wasn't really any news on either front. It was mostly just bringing Danny up to speed. So, when Derek and Peter went into the kitchen to make dinner, French toast because Derek made the best breakfast food, someone put in a movie, and Stiles wiggled in between Isaac and Scott to lean against his bro, play with Isaac's ridiculously soft hair, and keep up a steady stream of commentary.


	19. Noah

Noah knew his son knew more about the human sacrifices happening all around Beacon Hills than he was letting on. He also knew that the story about how his friend, the Whittemore boy, had die was a crock of shit. And Stiles knew something about that too. He knew because when Stiles had showed up at home after school the Monday after it happened, having missed supper and limping in a way that would worry him more if not for the hickeys on his neck saying it was sex-related, and Noah had asked him where the hell he'd been, Stiles had just curled into Noah's chest and cried and cried. It was grief and it was guilt. He could tell. Stiles knew who'd killed his friend, and he believed he had to lie about it. Which meant he was trying to protect someone, probably Scott. So, he hadn't asked that day. He'd just let Stiles cry until he fell asleep, and then carried him up to bed, even though his son was as tall as he was and not a featherweight. He had lost some weight though, Noah was pretty sure. Stress, too much adderol, and not enough sleep, most likely.

That night, he'd fished Stiles' pill bottle out of his pocket to count them, and found a jar of black ash there as well. No label, and he'd taken a small sample and had it looked at, just in case it was something more sinister. It was plain wood ash. Which Stiles was carrying around in his pocket. And he had about seven more jars in his room and two in his jeep. There was a line of the stuff in a ring around the house at the base of the foundation outside where it blended in. And that was worry-some, because if Stiles was getting involved in some sort of witchcraft-related cult, then he probably knew exactly who was killing all those people, although Noah didn't believe for a second he was taking part in it. He might be afraid to tell, though, if he thought it would put someone he cared about in danger. Noah had gone through his bookshelves and backpack and the papers on his desk, but he hadn't found anything about witches or spells. He'd found a sheaf of papers about a banshee, something about lunar eclipses, and something about a five-fold knot, but nothing about human sacrifice.

So, he put off the confrontation because Stiles had at least stopped cutting class, but he kept an eye out for anything weird. And then he started hearing rumors about his son being seen around town with Peter Hale, who fit the description Stiles had given him of the creep in the grocery store who'd made a pass at him to a T. He'd asked Melissa about the guy since she'd once gone on a date with him, but she'd said the date had been a disaster and she hadn't spoken to him since and was he sure it wasn't Derek they were seeing Stiles with? And then she'd confessed that she'd seen Stiles and Derek talking in the grocery store once and it had looked like they had feelings for one another, even if they hadn't touched or kissed or overtly flirted.

But when he swung by home for a shower in between investigating two more deaths to find Stiles in the living-room with a girl with a bleeding head wound, he knew he couldn't ignore it anymore. Stiles looked up at him when he walked in, worry and panic on his face, but then he turned right back to wiping blood off the girl's head while she glared at both of them.

"What the hell is this?" Noah asked.

"Dad, this is Cora," Stiles said, "She got hurt at school, but she doesn't want to go to the hospital, so I was gonna have Melissa come look at her on her lunch break."

And it was a lie. Maybe not who the girl is, but the rest of it was a lie. For once in his life, he'd just like to get the truth from his son.

"Stiles," he said.

Stiles' phone rang and he answered before the first tone even finished. "Alli. What? You're sure? Who? Fuck. Fuck. Okay. Has anyone found Derek yet? Fucking fuck! Keep looking. Alli, I told you, your dad is not the Darach. I promise. Call Peter then. No, I can't leave. Cora's not healing right. Well, get Jacks- get Danny to do it, or Lydia. Okay, bye, don't get killed."

He slapped his phone down on the coffee table. "Shit. Okay, Cora, I'm gonna need your help for this, so... try to heal."

"I am trying, idiot," she said, "You think I like this?"

"Okay, Dad, you know how you're having all that trouble solving murders in town over the last year or so?" Stiles said, and then he procceeded to lay out an outrageous story about werewolves, hunters, kanimas, and druids. Something called a Darach, someone called Deucalion. And Noah wasn't sure if his son had gone crazy, if he actually believed this, or if this was just an elaborate lie that he thought would get him out of trouble. Which was crazy all in itself. Because werewolves and magic users did not exist outside of fantasy and computer games.

But the fact that his son knew about every single murder as well as a few that hadn't turned up was alarming. Whatever was going on had nothing to do with the supernatural or magic, but there was no way now that he could say his son wasn't involved.

Stiles responded to his skepticism by trying to insist that the injured girl, Cora, who had better fucking not be going by Cora Hale, shift into her 'beta form' to prove his story was true, but instead, the girl just passed out.

"I'm calling the hospital," Noah said, "I don't care if she doesn't want to go. She could have brain damage or a concussion, and for god's sake, Stiles, she's still bleeding."

Stiles sighed. "It'll be faster to just drive her ourselves. Especially if you put her in the back of the squad car."

He was right, so Noah helped Stiles get the girl laid out in the back with a couch pillow under her head and Stiles to keep her from sliding around, and took off for the hospital, listening to Stiles' phone conversation with Peter Hale.

"Peter, where are you? Have you found him? I'm in my dad's squad car. No, I haven't been arrested. I wouldn't have my phone if I'd been arrested. We're taking Cora to the hospital. She got hit in the head, and it isn't healing. Aiden. A forty-five pound weight. Twice, I think. I wasn't there. No, she attacked him first. I don't know why it isn't healing. I haven't seen any signs of wolfsbane in her system. Okay. Put Scott in charge. He is not an idiot, and he'll do just fine. Fine, then, call Alli and have her do it. With Isaac looking for her dad. I don't know, Peter. She's got some hare-brained idea he might be the Darach. I think she's just freaking because the last male relative of hers she trusted turned out to be a genocidal psychopath. Yeah, well, Derek can commiserate, so that's all the more reason for her to find him. Either call Allison, hand things over to Scotty, or keep doing it yourself. Good, I'll see you there."

"Where will you see him?" Noah asked.

"He's meeting us at the hospital."

"The guy who tried to kill you last year, you set on fire, Derek killed, Lydia resurrected, and is now an alpha again only on your side."

"He's Derek's second in command, his First Beta."

"And what are you?" Because it didn't sound like Peter was Derek's second in command. It sounded like Stiles was.

"I'm... I don't really know what I am. I just try to help as much as I can."

"And Derek's missing."

"Yeah," Stiles said, "There was a fight. He was out trying to head off the Darach because Argent figured out where the next sacrifice was supposed to happen. I told him no one should go alone, but he's the Alpha, so you know... he did it anyway, and Kali and Deucalion attacked him. We found where it happened, and there was a lot of blood. A lot of it was his, but Peter said he and the betas would know if Derek was dead. So, we've been looking, but we lost his trail, and no one's been able to find a fresh scent. I'm worried that the Darach has him."

It was really disturbing to hear his son talk about this sort of thing like it was real. To hear him use words and phrases like wolfsbane in her system, he's the alpha, the betas, and finding fresh scents. 

"How long has he been gone?" Noah asked, because it was possible that Hale was actually injured and missing, even if it wasn't because he was attacked by werewolves.

"We aren't sure when he was attacked, but it's been ten hours since we found where it happened. If he could check in, he would've."

Ten hours wasn't a missing person, but if he was in need of medical attention, it was certainly long enough for him to be in critical condition or even dead. Shit. If he had any proof this was true and his department wasn't swamped dealing with all these murders, he could have his deputies keep an eye out for Hale, but he didn't and they were and he couldn't.

"You don't believe me," Stiles said.

"I swear I'm trying to be understanding here, Stiles, but I'm not sure if this is a lie you've come up with to get out of trouble or if it's a delusion you've created to cope with everything that's going on."

"I'm not lying to you, Dad! I'm not crazy. I know how it sounds, okay? I know it sounds nuts. I know. Believe me. I know. And if I hadn't spent the last year and a half neck deep in this shit, I wouldn't believe it either. Let's just get to the hospital and get Cora some help."

There was silence in the car for a moment except for the tapping of his son's fingers.

"Did you say she'd been hit in the head with a forty-five pound weight?" Noah asked.

"Twice, I think, but I didn't see it happen."

"How was she conscious at our house? How is her skull not caved in?" 

"It's exceptionally thick? I don't know. I'm just glad she's not dead."

And that. That sounded like his son. A sad, worn-down version of his son.

Peter Hale was waiting when they got to the Beacon Hills Memorial. He was pulling open the door and lifting Cora out as soon as the car stopped, and Noah and Stiles trailed in his wake as he stormed into the emergency department and called for help. In seconds, Cora was on a gurney and being rushed off by the doctors, and Stiles was shoving Peter into a chair in a corner of the waiting room and handing him a stack of paperwork. Insurance forms and patient registration. Noah hadn't seen him grab them.

"I hate paperwork," Hale muttered.

"Yeah, you and everyone else who ever had to make an insurance claim," Stiles said, "You added her to your policy, right? Does it cover acts of werewolf, or are you gonna have to pay out of pocket?"

"Didn't your mother ever tell you it's rude to ask about a person's finances?" Hale asked.

"No, she didn't," Stiles said, "My dad did, but it never stopped me."

"I'm shocked."

"I told him about everything," Stiles said, "but he doesn't believe me. I need you to show him your claws or something."

"Stiles," Noah said when the man just rolled his eyes.

"Peter! Just show him the damn claws!"

Hale sighed. Then he looked up at Noah, and his irises bled from blue to blood red and his teeth lengthened into something long and sharp that did not belong in a human mouth. And then it all melted away.

"Or flash your eyes and drop fang. That works too," Stiles said, "Dad?"

He wasn't lying. Stiles hadn't been lying. How was this the one thing his son had been truthful about?

"Holy shit," Noah said.

"You're taking this better than I thought you would," Hale said.

His brain wasn't quite ready to accept this, but he'd just seen the evidence in front of his eyes. 

"Boyd and Erica are here," Stiles said, "I'm gonna take my dad back to the station. There's... it's really busy down there. Boyd, you wanna stay here with Peter?"

"Sure."

"Alright, Erica, let's go."

And somehow, he found himself dropping Stiles and Erica off at the house and going back to work without having showered at all and with a whole mess of new information to try and reconcile with what little he knew about the murders he was trying to solve. And no way to add it to the official cases because he shouldn't know it and most of it sounded like a tv show on the syfy channel. Fuck, he needed a drink. He needed someone he knew was sane to talk through all this with him. He should call Melissa. She knew about this shit too, and she'd had time to get her head around it. But she was on shift, and she didn't get off for another four hours at least, and he had to go look at a dead body.

He got home at ten-twenty to find Stiles' jeep outside and the line of Mountain Ash in place again. He half expected to feel something as he stepped over it, but he didn't. It wasn't supposed to affect humans. Stiles had said he could make the line clear around the house with just a handful of the stuff but that he usually used a whole bottle because it made a stronger barrier. That had to be some kind of magic, but Stiles insisted that it wasn't. It was just a belief and a spark. All the lights were off, and he'd thought maybe there was a chance Stiles would be doing the sensible thing and getting some sleep, but he heard low voices when he got into the kitchen. Stiles and a man.

"I'm sorry," the man was saying, "I'm so sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for. It's not your fault."

"I said no. I swear I didn't want to do it."

"I believe you. It's not your fault."

"I said no. I told her I didn't want it. I should have been able to make her stop." 

This was sounding worse and worse by the second.

"Derek," Stiles said, "You listen to me. It doesn't matter if you're bigger or stronger than someone. It doesn't matter if you've got claws and fangs. You are never, ever, under any circumstances, required to use physical force against another person, not even in self-defense. You said no. That's the only thing that matters. You did not consent, and you told her so, and she did it anyway. That makes you the victim, and you are not to blame. She raped you. It doesn't matter how your body responded. It doesn't. You said no, and she had sex with you anyway. That's rape. That's the definition of rape. It's not your fault."

Noah felt an overwhelming pride in his son rush through him. Stiles was a good kid. A good man. He lied like a rug, but he was good where it really counted. And right now, he was dealing with something no one his age should have to deal with. Noah wasn't even sure he was old enough to deal with it, but he'd done it before, and he would no doubt have to do it again, and he wasn't going to make Stiles do it alone. Not even if he was doing it right. So, he walked into the living-room.

Derek Hale was sitting on his couch with his head in his hands, and Stiles was sitting on the coffee table in front of him, touching his shoulder gingerly. He looked up, and Noah could see the panic and worry on his face again, even more intense than before. And a few tears.

"How much did you hear?" Stiles asked.

"Just the last bit," Noah said, sitting next to Derek with a long sigh. He needed to get the man's statement, put out an arrest warrant for a rapist, and try to steer Derek in the direction of a good therapist. It was going to be a long night.


	20. Stiles

Stiles wasn't sure how things had gotten this bad. Derek had turned up, which was good, and he was physically unharmed, although psychologically not so much. He wished the guy could just catch a break. Wasn't Kate Argent bad enough? He had to get raped by some evil druid lady now? Derek did not deserve this shit. He was a good guy. He cared about people. He tried to protect them. He deserved to have good things happen to him. Or at least not awful things. Some run-of-the-mill normal person experiences would be very welcome right now.

But his return and Cora's hospitalization were followed almost immediately by the disappearances of Melissa and Stiles' dad. The Darach had taken them, and then she'd threatened to do something worse if Chris Argent didn't turn himself over. And Argent did it. Allison was freaking the fuck out. To be fair, so were he and Scott, but Stiles felt worse for her than for either of them. Because she'd lost her mom like a few months ago. Losing both parents so close together... that would fucking suck. Not that losing Dad wouldn't or Scotty losing his mom, but still. They weren't already in the middle of grieving.

And the pack was sort of crumbling right now. Cora was stuck at the hospital, poisoned with mistletoe or some shit, which Stiles didn't know how to cure, and Peter wouldn't leave her side, not even to help when the Alphas attacked the rest of them. Derek was reeling from his ordeal. Scott had thrown his hand in with Deucalion because the fucker had offered to help find and kill the Darach before she killed Melissa, and Stiles could understand that, sort of, but that guy was also trying to kill the pack, which didn't exactly scream trustworthy. Erica, Isaac, Allison, Boyd, Lydia, and Danny were looking to Stiles for leadership, and he needed to come up with a fucking plan right now.

They needed Scott back on their team. They needed to heal Cora. They needed to find their parents before they were sacrificed. These were the things they needed. He just had to figure out how to get them. He could do that, right? At least they knew the Darach was waiting for the upcoming eclipse to kill the last set of sacrifices, the guardians. They had a timeline to work with, and that was better than nothing. Stiles had already tried triggering Lydia's banshee powers to find Dad, Melissa, and Mr. Argent, and it hadn't worked, so that was out. They'd searched on foot, but that was dangerous because they were down an alpha and an almost alpha and a beta, and the Alpha pack could rip them apart. And Derek was sort of shaky right now, so they were kind of down all their alphas when you really got to it.

If they could cure Cora, they could get her and Peter back and take one more weight off Derek's mind. And the only person other than Ms. Morell, who was working with Deucalion, who might know how to do that was Deaton. Who really only ever helped Scott. Maybe Scott would stop working for Deucalion if he thought the pack had a good chance at finding and saving his mom on their own. Deaton would help save Scott's mom, right? For Scott? Stiles was pretty sure working with the Alpha pack wasn't what the vet had in mind for True Alpha Scott McCall. So, he called Deaton and filled him in, and shock of all shocks, the guy couldn't do anything for Cora, but he could help Scott find Melissa. Stiles would fucking take it. And if he had to order the rest of the pack not to rip into Deaton for being an asshole and not to mention the rejected request to Scott, well, that was the way it was going to fucking be. None of them growled at the vet or said anything rude, and Scott didn't notice the glaring. 

It wasn't an issue. Stiles knew the score, okay? Deaton was in this for Scott and only Scott. Everyone else could get fucked.

So, here Stiles was, stepping into a bathtub full of ice water and mistletoe with Lydia standing at the end to keep him from getting back out before it was time and pull him back if he was slipping away metaphorically or some shit, and Alli and Scott were there too with Isaac and Danny helping them. Stiles would have liked Derek to be there, but he was at the hospital with Peter and Cora right now, and Stiles wasn't going to drag him away from his dying sister. When they knew where to find their parents and had an actual plan, then yes, he'd drag Derek away to act like the goddamn alpha. For now, though, Stiles was handling this. Sort of. The water was so cold it burned, and his chest felt tight like a panic attack, and he really hoped he didn't have one of those, because he had people looking at him to lead them, and if he panicked, they'd panic too, and then they'd all die. He could do this. It was fucking cold, but he could do this.

And then there was whiteness and a tree stump and flashbacks to being in the woods, and then they were all waking up and he was finally, finally, out of the fucking ice. Danny and Boyd were stripping off his soaked clothes and wrapping him in a heavy blanket and Erica and Lydia were doing the same to Alli, and Isaac and Deaton to Scott. But they knew where to find them, and the Darach and Deucalion didn't know that. Which meant Scotty was back on the right team, and they could finally fucking get ahead of this shit. At least, part of this shit. There was still Cora.

Stiles called Derek, but he didn't pick up, and neither did Peter, and time was running down. They'd have to do this without them. It was night already, and the lunar eclipse was only hours away. They had to find the Nemeton before then or it'd be too late. So, Stiles split the rest of the pack into two teams. He, Scott, Erica, Isaac, and Allison would go look for the Nemeton. Boyd would take Danny and Lydia and scour the beastiary and any other resource they could find for a cure for Cora. Boyd, Lydia, and Danny were smart. They had a good chance of finding something, and if Stiles' dad wasn't one of the people missing, and if he didn't need to go find him and know he was safe and alive, he'd have put himself on that team. But he needed to do this, so they'd have to handle it without him.

"I'm supposed to meet Deucalion at the distillery in an hour," Scott said, "and he's the best plan B we have for getting rid of the Darach, so if we don't find the Nemeton before I have to leave, you'll have to do it without me. And if you find it before the eclipse and after I'm there, please don't let him kill me."

"We'll take it under consideration," Erica said, "This is the second time you've jumped ship on us."

"Hey," Stiles said, "His mom is in mortal danger, okay?"

"I didn't just do it for my mom," Scott said, "Helping Deucalion kill the Darach would have saved Stiles' dad and Mr. Argent too."

Erica opened her mouth to say something, but this was so not the time for this debate.

"Hey, hey, let's not argue semantics," Stiles said, "What's important is that Scott's on our team now. We'll work on him having more faith in our ability to keep people safe and alive in the future... in the future."

"You're very lucky Stiles likes you so much," Erica said.

"Alright, alright, less talky, more looky. We've got a lot of ground to cover and not a lot of time. Now, I'm gonna get in Roscoe and see if I can find the section of the road Scott and Alli remember being near the Nemeton, and you four, go try to catch a scent or something. My dad smells like heroism and illicit bacon."

The eclipse had started by the time Stiles got to the Nemeton. He'd hit a tree, a goddamn tree, and knocked himself out, and it had only been fucking luck that he'd been near the Nemeton when it happened and he'd heard everyone inside it yelling when he woke up. And then he was dropping down inside and wedging his new metal bat under the collapsing beam, and the cave-in was shuddering to a halt. The wind didn't die down until after the eclipse was over. Isaac threw Erica up and out of the hole and then everyone else for her to catch, one at a time, until it was just him and Stiles. He lifted the beam so Stiles could get his bat, tossed him out, and then jumped up himself so Erica could catch his hand and haul him out the rest of the way. 

Everyone piled into Roscoe. Melissa, Argent, and Dad in the back, and Isaac in the passenger seat with Erica on his lap. Alli sat on Stiles' lap and steered while her father shot him vaguely threatening looks in the rearview mirror and Dad shot him disapproving ones. Whatever. He and Alli were bros, and they were awesome at this. The ride to the distillery was bumpy, but that was because of the roads, not the driving, and they all piled out to go make sure Scott wasn't dead. Erica and Isaac said there were multiple heartbeats inside, so Stiles had hope that he wasn't. He'd rather Dad and Melissa stayed at the jeep, but they weren't about to start taking orders from him.

It wasn't just Scott and Deucalion inside. Derek was there too. And a big blood stain they said had come from the Darach, but she'd crawled off while their backs were turned, and her trail disappeared a few feet out the door. Deucalion said she wouldn't make it far, because he'd apparently slashed her throat, but Stiles would only really be able to relax after he'd seen the corpse. And even then, maybe not, because if Peter could find a way to come back from that, surely a person who specialized in magic could too. Stiles sent Erica and Isaac to do a quick run around and went to check on Derek, who was barely holding it together even if he was putting on his alpha's face. He wanted to hug him. Kiss him. Tell him it would be okay. But he couldn't because Dad and Melissa and Argent were right there, and because Derek had been raped like not very long ago. 

Stiles wasn't going to push anything even remotely sexual on him without having a conversation about how he was doing and if there were new boundaries he needed to set. He was sure the looks he was giving Derek and the way he kept touching his hand and arm and shoulder while they discussed how Derek had gotten here and what had gone down weren't fooling anyone, but he couldn't stop because he needed to give him some kind of comfort or reassurance and this was all he had to offer. Stiles couldn't even tell him everything was okay now, because they hadn't heard any updates from the rest of the pack, and someone would tell them if they'd found a cure for Cora. So she was probably still dying.

"Oh, my god. Stiles, just hug him already," Dad said, making Stiles jump. Oh, boy. There was a Talk in his future. 

But right now, he could hug Derek. So, he did. And he was warm and strong and breathing into Stiles' neck like it was the best thing he'd smelled in years. And he was alive and not bleeding, thank fuck. He was almost always bleeding at the end of these things. Derek pulled back way too soon, because hugging too long would be inappropriate, and then Stiles was hugging Scotty instead. Scotty, whose eyes were a pale, orangey-red.

"Whoa, bro. Did you level up officially now?" Stiles asked, grabbing Scott's face to get a better look.

Scott grinned. "I broke a Mountain Ash barrier."

"Oh, dude. That is so awesome. Wait, does that mean you're not pack anymore?"

"Of course I'm pack, idiot. I'd never abandon you."

"We haven't done anything to make it official," Derek said, "I think we need to have a few conversations about what that would mean and what it would look like in practice first. Peter knew what he was doing. Scott doesn't, and honestly, I don't know that much about True Alphas. It may not even be possible."

God damn, it was so hot when Derek took the responsible route and thought things through ahead of time. But now was not the time to be thinking about the dirty things he wanted to do to him when he was ready for that. Think of something else.

Deucalion was giving Stiles a look that he didn't like at all.

"Quite an interesting pack you've assembled for your Alpha, Mr. Stilinski," he said, "A banshee and two subordinate alphas. That's a force to be reckoned with."

"It's a force to be left the fuck alone, asshole," Stiles said, "If Scott and Derek want to let you go, fine. That's their decision to make, not mine, but if you come back and bring trouble with you, they will not be making that decision a second time."

"No, I'm sure you wouldn't allow it."

"Well, I'm glad we understand one another. Bye now. Time for you to go the fuck away and never come back."

Deucalion gave him an irritating smirk and left.

"God, that guy would get along so well with Peter," Stiles muttered. "Shit, Peter. He's still at the hospital with Cora. We've got to check in."

"I'll call Lydia," Scott said, "See if they found anything. You call Peter."

Peter didn't pick up. Lydia did, but she didn't have any news. They'd been scouring the beastiary and the Argent's files and the internet and every book they could find on poisons that had mistletoe as an ingredient and how to cure them and come up with nothing. So, everyone piled into Roscoe again, an even tighter fit with Derek and Scott in the mix, but they made it work. Dad was muttering about traffic laws and clown cars, but walking or running would take too long, so driving it was. Besides, Stiles and Allison rocked at the buddy driving thing, and it was kind of fun.


	21. Peter

Cora was dying. The Darach was dead, Deucalion was gone, the Alpha Pack disbanded, and everyone's parents recovered, but Cora was still dying. Peter had only left the hospital once, briefly, since she'd been admitted, and now that the Alpha pack's dust had settled, Derek wasn't leaving either. He just sat there and held her hand, draining her pain as much as he could, and waited while the pack searched for an answer. It had been two days, and Cora was getting worse. Peter could see it. He knew Derek saw it too. The desperation leaking off him was palpable, even to the nurses who came by to stare at his nephew's pretty face. Yeah, they were wasting their time.

And looking for a cure was probably a waste of time too. This reeked of a spell, and the only person in Beacon Hills who knew how to undo one of those had already refused to help. Peter still couldn't believe Stiles had taken that lying down, but maybe it wasn't such a surprise. Stiles had said things before about how they shouldn't expect Deaton to help anyone but Scott. Probably, he'd asked just on the off chance he'd get lucky, not because he had any expectation of receiving aid. Stiles was an odd one, but he had good instincts. If he thought it was worth keeping Deaton around, he was most likely right.

Peter let his book close and looked over at the bed where Derek was holding Cora's hand, black lines running clear up to his shoulders, head nodding as he drifted into sleep. Derek would do anything to save her. Peter knew it. It wouldn't be hard to convince him to do it. And then Peter would be Alpha Hale again. He felt the Alpha power surge inside him, strong, vital. It was a good feeling. But if he took the pack from Derek, that would be it. There would be no coming back from it. No chance at redemption. No chance at being family. He didn't think Cora would accept it either.

Derek had been a piss poor alpha when he'd first become one, but he'd worked hard to improve. He'd earned the trust and respect of his betas. He'd learned to take advice and to trust his instincts when the time came. When Stiles had made Peter an alpha again, and Peter had walked into the loft, reeking of blood and Stiles and challenge, he'd smelled confusion and betrayal on Derek, crushing guilt over Jackson's death, anger. Over the top of that had been despair so strong it was overwhelming. And over that, determination. Cold, hard determination. Implacable and unwavering. If he'd challenged, Derek would have killed him. He'd have killed him to keep the pack he'd worked so hard to build. He was convicted, determined, and strong, and Peter had known right in that moment that somewhere along the line, Derek had become a leader he could follow. And he would rather follow him than lose him altogether and be leader himself. So, he'd submitted. He'd submitted and then begged Derek to accept him when Derek had hesitated. And then he'd gone right back to being first beta. 

And now, he was going to give up his Alpha spark again, because it turned out, he would rather have a family than power. He was going soft, but he didn't have it in him to regret it right now. There'd be plenty of time for that later.

Peter pulled his chair over next to Derek's and carefully began to pry his nephew's fingers off Cora's arm.

"Mmm?" Derek's eyes fluttered open a little.

"My turn, Derek. You're exhausted, and you need to recharge."

"I don't want to leave her."

"You don't have to. Just trade chairs with me. Mine's right next to you."

Derek shuffled over into the other spot, and Peter slid into his place, taking Cora's arm and feeling hot spikes of pain shoot up his own arms and into his bones. Fucking hell. He bit back a hiss. Derek was dozing off, losing his battle with consciousness and listing to the side. He was going to fall off his chair, and that would wake him up, which was not ideal. Peter grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him back upright, then took Cora's hand again. Derek slumped against his shoulder and curled a hand into his jacket, fast asleep. Well, that was unexpected. He was going to have drool on his shirt in the morning, he just knew it. Oh, well, he'd just tease Derek and insist he buy him a new wardrobe.

He waited until he was sure Derek was really under. He didn't want to answer questions or deal with the kid's massive soulful gazes any sooner than he had to on the heels of this, let alone in the middle. He wasn't even sure it would work. There was a pretty good chance he'd get this right, but if he didn't, Derek and Cora were going to wake up minus an uncle. They might not even mind. The things he did for his pack. 

It went faster than he thought it would. Hurt more too. But then the numbers on the machines crept into healthy ranges and the beeping of the heart monitor slowed and settled at a good rhythm, and Cora breathed easier. He let go of her arm to shake out his wrists. That was going to ache for days. A nurse came in to check on Cora a minute or so later. The change in her vitals had apparently not gone unnoticed. Derek slept right through it, head on Peter's shoulder, fist clenched in his jacket. Just like when he was a little boy.

Peter picked up his book and went back to reading.


	22. Derek

Derek woke up to fingers running through his hair. It was nice. His first thought was Stiles, but his scent wasn't nearly strong enough for him to be there. Just Derek, Peter, and Cora. Then he smelled antiseptic and the undertones of sickness, blood, and death. Hospital. Cora was sick. Shit, he'd fallen asleep, and she'd probably died while he was out. He'd fallen asleep and drooled, he realized, feeling the stickiness of it on his cheek and the... wait, what was that? That was not a pillow.

It was Peter's arm. And that was Peter's hand in his hair.

"Have a good nap?" Peter asked, "You're buying me a new jacket, by the way."

Derek sat up. What was Peter doing petting him and letting him drool on his sleeve? Then the sound of Cora's heart monitor registered. A slow, steady beep. The smell of mistletoe and blood-poisoning was almost gone.

"Cora?" He straightened all the way so he could look at her. Her skin was healthy and pink, her chest was rising and falling evenly, and her hand was warm when he touched it.

"She'll wake up soon," Peter said, "and no doubt go right back to hating your boyfriend now that she's not distracted by the Alpha Pack and the Darach. Something for you to look forward to."

"What happened? How is she okay? She was dying. She was almost dead."

"Maybe your pack finally pulled through for you," Peter said. He was avoiding something.

"Peter."

"What? You don't have any faith in them?"

"Peter."

Peter sighed. "I can't undo what I did to Laura, Derek, and I doubt you'll ever forgive me for it, but I really, truly, wasn't in my right mind at the time. I could, however, make sure you didn't lose this sister too."

"You knew how to save her?"

"I had a last resort, and there was no guarantee it would work. I'd never seen it done before, just heard stories, and while I was fairly sure of the technique, it was all theoretical."

"What did you do?"

Peter just looked at him, and for the first time, his scent registered on Derek's mind. It was different. It was... Peter flashed his eyes just for a second. Blue. A beta.

"An alpha can give up their spark to heal a pack member even if they're seconds from death," Peter said, "and there's already a Hale Alpha." 

"You gave up being an alpha for her?"

"I gave up being an alpha for both of you."

Derek didn't think Peter was lying right now, but he wasn't sure how that was possible, because he would never in a million years believe there was the remotest chance his uncle would give up being an alpha for his sake. He might submit, give up the highest position. Not for Derek, though. He was pretty sure Peter just hadn't wanted to deal with the responsibilities that came with herding a bunch of teenagers around and didn't want to go to the trouble of killing them. Better to submit, avoid a fight, remain an alpha, and have the additional security of being allied to an even stronger alpha. But for Peter to give up that kind of power altogether? If anyone had ever asked Derek if Peter would do that, he'd have laughed in their face. If they'd asked if Peter would give it up for Derek's sake, he'd have laughed even harder.

Whatever was on his face was not what his uncle wanted to see, and something flickered in Peter's eyes. Something like pain and regret.

"You're my nephew, Derek," Peter said, "No matter how much shit we put one another through, I still love you, and I'm never going to stop."

Derek stared at his hands, remembering the feeling of his claws tearing through Peter's throat, the hot blood gushing out and the flesh giving way, the smell of chemical burns and hatred. Remembering the fear he'd felt as he did it and the rage and satisfaction. The horror and revulsion that had followed. How he'd thrown up every time he'd thought about it for the next three days. How he'd thrown up every time a memory of playing games with his uncle as a kid or hearing him read stories at bedtime when he babysat had popped into his head for the next month. He'd thrown up a lot.

Peter touched his cheek lightly, caught the back of Derek's head and pulled it into his chest, his arms tight around Derek's shoulders. Derek found himself grabbing fistfuls of the back of Peter's shirt and holding on like he had when he was a little boy. Back when he'd trusted his Uncle Peter to protect him and care about him. That boy was gone. That Uncle Peter was gone. But maybe Derek wasn't the only person those memories meant anything to.


	23. Stiles

"Cora said she wants to go back to Brazil."

Stiles looked up from where he was trying not to accidentally amputate his fingertips. Dicing carrots was not his calling, but you couldn't make chicken pot pie without carrots according to every single recipe he'd ever found, and it was Dad's birthday. Stiles always made him chicken pot pie on his birthday. Even if it was hit or miss whether it'd taste good. It was tradition for them to stare apprehensively at this year's concoction until they plucked up the nerve to take a bite. And whatever the results, it always made Dad smile.

Derek was slicing onions because they didn't make him cry. Werewolves weren't affected like that or something. Or maybe, Derek was an alpha and too tough and manly to cry over vegetables. Stiles wasn't too manly to do that, but that was why he was chopping carrots.

"Yeah?" Stiles prompted. This was going somewhere, and it wasn't too hard to guess where, but Derek probably wanted to say it out loud.

"I don't think she feels comfortable here," Derek went on, "and I think it brings up a lot of memories she'd rather avoid."

"We're not making her feel unwelcome, are we?"

The pack had accepted Cora, especially since she'd helped during the Alpha Pack thing, but she wasn't integrating smoothly like Danny was. Stiles did his best to make sure the pack didn't get cliquey and lock her out, but he couldn't be everywhere all the time, and Cora had a lot of pride. Sometimes, she got mad at him when he reached out like she thought he was taking pity on her. He wasn't. He didn't like her enough to pity her. He didn't like her at all, really, but she was Derek's sister and Peter's niece, and she'd fought for the pack. She had a place here, and he knew it could be hard to come into a group that was already bonded together. Danny played lacrosse with Stiles, Scott, Boyd, and Isaac, and he'd been friends with Lydia for years. He had an in. But none of them knew Cora, not even Peter and Derek, and including her in things didn't come automatically. And if you wanted it to become automatic, you had to start by doing it intentionally, even if that looked like pity.

"I don't know," Derek said, "I can tell you guys are trying not to, and she didn't say it directly, but that doesn't mean it's not happening. I think she mostly doesn't like being in Beacon Hills. The last time she was here, our family was burned alive and she went on the run."

"Yeah, I guess it wouldn't be easy to have reminders of that all around you."

"It's fine for me," Derek said, "I mean, it's hard sometimes. Sometimes, it fucking sucks and I feel like I can't breathe, but I've got you now. I've got the pack and you and even Peter, and I've dealt with a lot of it. I'm happy here. I don't know if she ever could be."

"So, Brazil."

"Yep."

"How does an eleven year old werewolf get from Beacon Hills to Brazil on her own?"

"She hasn't said yet. I don't think she went straight there. Laura and I didn't go straight to New York, but that's where we ended up."

"Was Laura like Cora?"

"No. Laura was... no, she wasn't. You'd have liked her a lot. She'd have thought you were hilarious."

"I am trying to like Cora."

"I know. She's not making it easy, is she?"

"Well, I doubt I'm making it easy for her to like me either. We've both just gotta be who we are and learn to tolerate one another. Once we get to that point, we can try to figure out a way to like each other. It worked for you and me, didn't it? Only, I'm not going to be able to seduce her with my nubile body and my wicked, sexy ways, so it might be harder to convince her she likes me. None of that good oxytocin to do half the work."

Derek huffed but didn't argue.

"So, Brazil," Stiles said, "I'm guessing you and Peter are going to make sure she gets there safely. Personally."

"Yeah, and we plan on staying for a while."

"A while as in a month or two, or a while as in longer than that?"

"Not longer than three months, for sure. Well, I can't really speak for Peter, but I wouldn't stay away longer than that."

Three months seemed like an awfully long time to Stiles, but he didn't say so. Derek probably needed some time away. After Jackson and Ms. Blake, especially. And he could get to know his sister again.

"You and Scott can handle things while we're gone," Derek said, "and Argent said he'd help keep the pack up to speed on training."

"You got a hunter to agree to train your pack? That's an impressively good idea."

"Oh, shut up. You think I didn't notice you planting it in my mind months ago and feeding and watering it whenever my concentration was somewhere else?"

Stiles did think that. He was pretty sure Derek probably hadn't realized he'd been played until either Peter or Chris Argent asked if Stiles was making him ask for Argent's help. But he wasn't about to tell Derek that.

"You're getting wise in the ways of the Stiles," Stiles said, "Soon, you will no longer be a padawan, but a jedi knight."

"You're weird."

"You are one with the Stiles and the Stiles is with you."

"I'm also surrounded and penetrated by the Stiles. Frequently."

Did he...? Did he...? Stiles gaped. Did Derek just make a dirtier Star Wars reference than him? And an accurate one? Something was happening here, and it was very, very hot. Like so unbelievably hot. 

"You should see your face right now." Derek was laughing at him, but Stiles was still trying to reboot his brain.

"Okay, we need to make out like, right now," Stiles said, "Put down the onion and the knife and get over here so I can positively reinforce what you just did just now. There needs to be so much reinforcement for that behavior."

Derek put down the knife and the onion and came over to lift Stiles onto the countertop and step between his legs. They were still making out when the timer went off telling them the chicken breasts were ready to come out of the oven.

"I should have just bought frozen," Stiles mumbled between kisses.

"Since when do you buy frozen meals that aren't pizza?"

"Never, but when actual cooking comes between me and your face, I start to reevaluate that decision."

Derek pulled away with a sigh. "Come on. We're on a time table, and we're already behind. If we don't keep going, there's no way this'll be done right as your dad gets home from work."

"I can put in half as many carrots as it calls for, right? It's not like a hard and fast rule, is it?"

"I don't think you should be altering recipes with your track record. Why don't you let me finish the carrots and you chop something a little softer? Like the celery or the chicken."

Stiles flicked him off but handed over the carrots because he liked his fingers attached, okay? And Dad did too. And he was going to keep them that way for his dad's birthday.

"When do you leave?" Stiles asked, forking the chicken out of the baking pan and onto his cutting board.

"In a week."

"What's the plan for Isaac? He staying at Peter's apartment?"

"No, Peter said he wasn't stupid enough to leave his home in the hands of a sixteen year old boy. Melissa offered her spare room, so he's going to stay with Scott."

"Wait, Melissa was there for this conversation?" Something was being left out here, and Derek couldn't really think he'd miss it, could he?

"Okay, I called her and asked, and Scott probably made cow eyes at her so she couldn't say no."

"You could have called me."

"I know." Derek smiled at him reassuringly. "I thought of you first, but your dad only learned about everything a little while ago. Melissa will be more prepared to deal with anything odd that Isaac might do."

"Oh. That's fair."

"I didn't pass over you because I didn't think you could handle it or because I thought you'd say no. I promise. And before I forget, here's the key to Peter's apartment."

"He won't give it to Isaac, but he'll give it to me?"

"Apparently, yes."

"He knows I already have a key, right?" Stiles asked, "I borrowed yours and made myself a copy a long time ago. I have keys to everyone's houses. It's just good sense."

"I don't think he knows that," Derek said.

"Well, tell him I'm going to rent it out to the kids at school for their sex-capades and their black light parties, and I expect him to provide the lube and condoms and the glowy paint before he leaves. And glowy condoms. Is glowy lube a thing? Because if it is, he'd better buy that too."

"He'll be delighted to hear that his confidence is well-placed."


	24. Stiles

Argent was a hellish taskmaster. Stiles had seen it coming because he recognized way too intense when he saw it, and also, Alli had told him horror stories about her own training. The rest of the pack was in for a nasty surprise. Argent pushed the wolves harder than Peter ever had during his most vicious how-to-literally-tear-someone-in-half lessons, only Argent was teaching them other things, things you needed to know when you were fighting enemies that weren't Alpha werewolves. Which could only help if what Deaton had said about the Nemeton waking up and pissing in its neighbors' yards and cornflakes was true. They could be staring down the barrel of some pretty nasty critters in the near future, and no one in town dealt with that crap better than a hunter. 

Stiles was not involved in the lessons unless Argent needed a gopher to hold something or schlepp something around or act as a practice dummy. Lydia and Danny were training with Allison in hand-to-hand and some of the less freaky weapons Alli knew how to use, but Stiles had flatly refused the offer to join. He'd shown Argent privately that he could use a handgun, and he'd let the guy teach him how to use a taser, but that was as much as he was willing to do. He wasn't going to carry either one, and he wasn't going to make any skills he may or may not possess public knowledge. He wasn't sure why Argent didn't push the issue, but he seemed to realize Stiles had his reasons and was respecting his decision. And Stiles wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth, because teaching him to use weapons was a bad idea.

If Stiles knew how to hurt and kill people, he was going to put those skills to use. Not in a psycho mass-murderer sort of way, but in defense of his friends and family. If Stiles could do it, he was going to do it. If he had a gun, he would shoot. If he had a knife and knew how to use it, he would gut someone like a fish. If he knew how to kill with his bare fucking hands, he'd do that too. And once he'd done it to one person, it was only going to get easier to do it a second time, and a third, and a fourth, and it'd take less and less for him to justify it.

He knew, okay? He had a text message on his phone from the night of the lunar eclipse that proved it. It said, jb alive, throat cut, near distillery. And then a second text that said, she raped Derek. Peter had brought Stiles the literal heart from her chest. He'd taken it out to the Hale property, burned it, and buried it with Mountain Ash and mistletoe while Peter waited in the car. Peter had showered at his house and borrowed some of his dad's clothes, and neither of them had said a word about it since. And Stiles hadn't told anyone else. Not Scott, not Derek, not Allison. 

He'd already sicced Peter on two people because he knew Peter would kill given the right motivation and Stiles had wanted them dead. So, Stiles was not going to have the tools to do horrible things at his disposal, okay? That was a bad fucking idea. He had his brain and his baseball bat and his Mountain Ash, and that was good enough.

It was weird to go from seeing Derek almost every day to not seeing him at all. They talked a lot on the phone he'd given Stiles. It was an honest-to-god flip phone, and it couldn't even do texts because Derek had only bought it so he and Stiles could call and talk while he was in Brazil. And yeah, it was a little funny to think that his boyfriend had bought him a burner phone with unlimited minutes so they could keep their relationship a secret from his dad. If Derek had also given him one of his credit cards for in case there was a pack emergency and Stiles needed to buy them their own personal island to retreat to, well, no one needed to know that either. Because if they did, they would demand that he take them shopping, and that was not a responsible use of Derek's money. Even if the guy had obscene amounts of it. He may have rifled through Derek's mail and seen his bank statements, okay? Derek could afford a small island. But that didn't mean he wanted to buy one. Also, the bank would probably freeze the card if Stiles tried it.

The good news was that with all the free time he had not avoiding death at the hands of the Alpha Pack and evil druids, and without Derek there to while away the hours with mind-blowing sex, Stiles' grades were right back up in the stratosphere. And Lydia, Danny, and Boyd were helping him get the rest of the pack's grades up too. You know, as a buffer for when things went to shit again. Well, mostly, they were doing it. Stiles tried to help sometimes, but unless he took a little too much Adderol, he couldn't focus well enough to make headway, and he was saving his extra Adderol days for when they were in dire straits. Dad was counting his pills every few days right now. He went through phases where he did that for his peace of mind, and Stiles pretended he didn't notice. He just kept a stash of his meds at Scott's for the days when he needed a little more and didn't want Dad to worry. 

He should probably stock that back up, come to think of it. And maybe see if he could keep some in Alli's room. It was always good to have a secondary stash just in case. The loft would be more convenient since that's where he usually was when he needed to be able to concentrate, but Derek didn't like when he took more than his prescription. He'd smell the pills and probably throw them out even though you couldn't argue with the results. Of course, things could get awkward if Argent went through Alli's room from time to time like Dad did in his room and found the pills. He'd probably be pissed, and he'd definitely tattle, and then Stiles would have to try to explain it away. He supposed he could say he must have left it behind after a sleepover, but that was pretty flimsy since he took the stuff every day and would notice if it was gone.

Allison had to have a place where she hid things she didn't want her dad to find. Stiles' place was at Scott's. Or sometimes, in Dad's room, depending on how big the item was and how sure he needed to be of being able to retrieve it at a moment's notice. He'd ask her. They were having their Epic Star Wars Gaming Bro-a-thon this weekend. Two full days of nothing but sitting on the couch in their pajamas, eating junk food, and playing Star Wars video games. Scotty didn't understand the awesomeness that was Star Wars, but Alli did. He'd discovered it by accident when he'd been telling Scott all the reasons why Obi-wan should have been the Chosen One because he would totally never have gone bad, and she'd gotten all huffy and said he was missing the point of Anakin and the fact that the force was out of balance when the Jedi were so powerful. They'd argued all through second and third period and lunch, and then they'd picked back up in the parking lot after school was out. Stiles had missed Lacrosse practice and hadn't even noticed until Scott, Isaac, Danny, and Boyd came to ask him where he'd been. 

He and Alli had been bro-ing out over Star Wars in between their heart-to-hearts ever since, and they'd been planning this weekend for months. Stiles had gone online and bought them gallon-sized drinking jars that looked like the thing Jabba the Hutt used to suck the drool off his face so they could just dump in massive amounts of soda and not have to think about refills. Because these were the sorts of things people made and sold on the internet. Allison had found a serving bowl that looked like the top of an imperial probe droid for their Doritos, and also, slippers shaped like IG-88's head. Because she was amazing. He may have used Derek's credit card to buy her a podracing helmet for Christmas. For when she got rides on the back of Scott's motorcycle. If that ever happened. Or if she just wanted to feel cool while she was driving her mazda.

Stiles showed up at her house with six two-liters of Code Red Mountain Dew, a gallon of milk, a bottle of blue food coloring, ten bags of Doritos in various flavors, three giant bags of berry skittles, twelve frozen pizzas, and a mega-sized bottle of mixed berry tums. Overkill, probably, but the idea was not to have to leave the house for any reason, and that included emergency junk food runs. Mr. Argent stared as he hauled the grocery bags in, but he knew by this point never to encourage Stiles to talk when he had that manic a grin on his face. He just made room in the freezer for the pizzas while Stiles put the soda in the fridge.

"Stiles," Alli chirped as she bounced into the kitchen, dimples flashing, "I just found my old X-wing computer game from back in like the early nineties, and it totally works with a dos box. We are so taking turns playing it next time we have one of these. Did you get me blue Doritos?" 

"Which blue Doritos?" Stiles asked, "There are like four different colors of blue and none of them are the same. It's like care bears. Didn't you get my text asking you to be more specific? You didn't answer, so I figured you didn't care."

"What?" The look on her face was truly fantastic, and he didn't feel even a little bit bad about teasing her or for hiding the blue Doritos underneath the other ones so she couldn't see them. But he couldn't jerk her around too much because she knew a lot of ways to maim and kill him.

"Of course, I got you your Doritos," he said, "I got half blue and half other flavors. You know, because I like a variety pack."

"Oh, my god, you dick." She thumped him on the arm, but not hard enough to hurt since he had bought the chips she wanted.

"Did you get anything with actual nutritional value?" Argent asked.

Stiles scoffed and then realized that not only was this guy a hunter, he was also Alli's terrifying, overprotective dad.

"I got milk," he said, "You know, for pregaming toasts to our strong stomach linings and the ability of our eyes to focus on flashing lights for hours on end. Milk totally has nutrients. And also, blue food coloring because Star Wars. And one of the pizzas is totally a veggie pizza."

Except one of the pizzas was super not veggie. He'd gotten four meat lovers, four sausage and mushroom, four pepperoni, two cheese, one hamburger, and one canadian bacon because it never hurt to try new pizzas. 

"I just put them in the freezer," Argent reminded him, tone bland.

Shit. Wow, way to be a great liar, Stiles.

"Tomato is a veggie," Stiles said, "Well, no, it's a fruit, but to be fair, most things people call vegetables are actually fruits."

"It doesn't count when it's fifty percent sugar and forty-five percent salt," Argent said, "Or when it's smothered in cheese and greasy meat."

"Wow, you clearly don't know how to rationalize your food choices. That's the best way to sneak a veggie in."

"I'm going to go to the store and pick up a veggie tray," Argent said, "and if it isn't eaten in its entirety by the end of the weekend, I will be providing all the food at the next Star Wars party my daughter cons me into letting her host. And there will be nothing served that is processed, packaged, fried, oiled, salted, or in any way delicious."

Stiles was going to end up eating an entire section of cherry tomatoes, he just knew it. Because there always was one in every veggie tray, and Alli hated them. She was going to browbeat him into eating her half. And raw tomatoes were gross, okay? There was a reason people cooked them into sauces and pastes where they added meats and seasonings, and it was because no one anywhere wanted to eat straight up raw tomato. Except Derek, but Stiles was willing to overlook that little failing because his ass was so perfect. His perfect ass covered a multitude of sins. His perfect everything else covered most of the ones it didn't.

"Dude," Allison hissed and jabbed him in the ribs, "Do not start daydreaming about Derek in front of my dad."

"Fine, fine. Shit, fine. Okay, I'm gonna put a pizza in the oven and then we can start."

"Oh. My. God." She pulled one of the hookah-like drinking jugs out of a bag. "Is this from Jabba's palace?! Where did you get this? This is so awesome. You know what? Scott doesn't deserve you. You're mine now. He can't have you back. I'm going to text him."

"Wait, wait. It gets better. It's for drinking out of. I already ran it through the dishwasher like four times so it wouldn't taste like chemical. You should send him a picture of us drinking from them. It'll be way better than just a text. Also, I feel like we should get the slippers in there too, because IG-88 is totally the coolest bounty hunter and Scotty'll be confused about what they are."

"Yes. Okay. Yes. I'll get the slippers, and you pour soda in these things."

She ran off and Stiles opened a two-liter of Code Red. Code Red was the nectar of the gods. He had both drinking jugs set up on the counter and filled by the time she got back.

"Sorry," she said, "I forgot to take the tags off, and then I had to find scissors." 

"You didn't just use one of the thousand razor-sharp knives you keep lying around?"

Alli blushed. "Shut up. Those are for fighting, not opening boxes and cutting tags."

They sent Scott a snapchat doing their best Jabba impersonations. He sent back a picture of his confused face and a wtf? So, they sent him a close up of one of the slippers with Stiles doing his best robot noises and blaster sounds and Alli giggling in the background. Scott sent is that the terminator? Yeah, he was fucking with them now, even though he really didn't know who IG-88 was. Philistine. They snapchat battled with him until the pizza was done and then got down to eating and playing Knights of the Old Republic. And having some pretty intense talks about their moms and what had just gone down in the last couple months in between talking smack and cussing at the game. Stiles was pretty sure that was the only reason Argent had actually agreed to let them have this Bro-a-thon.

It was a decision the guy was now likely reevaluating as he glared daggers at Stiles from the end of the couch. Where Stiles was waking up. With Allison fast asleep on top of him. Wrapped around him like a beautiful, ass-kicking panda. Fully clothed, of course, and with a blanket between them, but still.


	25. Stiles

"Whaa?" was the only sound that came out of Stiles. He was pretty sure Argent had said something he was supposed to respond to. Most likely by getting his daughter out from between Stiles legs and off his torso and then getting the fuck out of his house.

"I said school starts in half an hour, and what in hell do you think you're doing?"

Did he say half an hour? Stiles looked at the clock. Fucking fuck. That couldn't be the time. He'd set an alarm. They were supposed to be up an hour ago so Alli had time to de-grossify herself. Shit.

"Alli!" Stiles shook her shoulders and pried at her arms, which were firmly clamped around his chest. "Alli, get up. We over-slept. We have to leave in like ten minutes. Dad said if I was late to school after this weekend, he'd never let me Star Wars with you again."

She lurched up and rolled off him onto the floor. "What?"

"It's half an hour before the bell." Stiles dug into the couch cushions desperately for his phone.

"I can't go to school like this," Alli wailed, scrambling to her feet and running for her room. Stiles ran after her. His clothes were in there, and he could not go to school dressed like this. Or smelling like this. Holy fucking shit, he smelled rancid. Gaming shouldn't make you sweat so much, but it totally did. And pizza and junk food sweat was the worst smelling sweat.

"I have to shower," he said as he yanked jeans and a shirt from his bag, "I can be done in like two minutes, but I reek, dude. I think my stench would literally kill someone."

"I need to wash my hair," Alli said, yanking her clothes off as she ran for the bathroom, "Stiles, I have Dorito crumbs in my hair. I can't be seen in public."

"You go first then, and I'll go when you're done."

"That'll take too long."

A second later, he found himself naked in the shower with her, dumping a glob of her body wash into his hand and scrubbing her down while she washed her hair, and then himself down while she washed his and they brushed their teeth. Her body wash smelled like mango. And then they were stumbling back into her room, toweling off and trying to force their clothes onto their still-damp skin.

"I can't find clean underwear," Allison said, rummaging through her dresser drawers, "Why can't I find underwear?"

"Wear pants. No one will know."

"I can't wear this top with jeans."

"Dude, we have to leave like two minutes ago," Stiles said, hopping on one foot while pulling on his other shoe, "Just wear a different shirt."

He grabbed his backpack and ran for the kitchen to get his wallet and keys. She stumbled past, pulling on a blue shirt and carrying heels and her makeup bag.

"Stiles!" she shrieked, "We're gonna be late."

"Coming." He spotted a stack of clean, folded clothing on his way to the door and grabbed a pair of green silk panties off the top and shoved it in his pocket. "I'll come back later to clean up, Mr. Argent. Bye."

Alli was in the car, fretting over her wet hair. He threw his backpack into the back and cranked the engine over, throwing Roscoe in reverse and tearing out the driveway. He was going to have to break a few speed limits to get them there before class. He wondered if Dad would let him off the hook if he was late because he got pulled over for speeding on the way to school. Probably not.

"My hair is going to be so hideous," Allison moaned.

"Your hair is gorgeous. Just put it up on one of those messy bun things Lydia's magazines always talk about. Or borrow her blow-drier and spend first hour fixing it in one of the staff bathrooms. I have the key for the one on the second floor by language arts."

"Dad would kill me if I cut class. He's going to be pissed enough as it is. Oh, my god. He's going to murder you."

"Derek will avenge me."

"Derek's going to murder me."

"Derek's in Brazil."

"So? We just took a shower together. You put body wash on my breasts with your bare hands. I rubbed up against your dick at least twice even though we were both trying to avoid it. I'm pretty sure he's going to be able to tell even from thousands of miles away. He's going to scare some poor pilot into flying him back up here today just so he can kill me." She turned his rearview mirror so she could use it to do her make up. Because you didn't face imminent death at the hands of a jealous alpha werewolf without having your mascara on.

"Well, I can think up our epitaphs during the classes we are so not going to miss," Stiles said, "Wait, are you wearing one of his shirts?"

She glanced down at the navy blue henley that was hanging off her tiny frame. "I don't know. I thought this was my blue cami. It was in my clean clothes, and I didn't realize it wasn't the one I wanted until we were already out here and it was too late."

"I would offer you my shirt," Stiles said, "but it's also one of his, so unless you'd prefer green over blue, you'd better hope you or Lyds or Erica have a spare at school."

"What is this day?"

They got to school two minutes before the bell. Alli beat him to class even though she was finding ways to tuck Derek's henley around her that made it look less like a smock as she went. She threw herself into the chair next to Lydia, and heaved a sigh of relief. Stiles collapsed next to Scott and grinned at him. Scott just stared at him in horror. So did Isaac.

"What?" Stiles asked.

"Did you guys shower together?" Scott hissed. Now, Lydia was super paying attention.

"What?" Stiles asked, "You can tell?"

"You smell like her soap and shampoo and like you rolled around on her skin," Isaac said, his eyes wide, "and she smells like you. Like really strongly."

"Okay, yes," Stiles said, "we showered together, and before that, we may have been sleeping together on the couch, but there was nothing sexual about it. We woke up late and there wasn't time to shower separately, and dude, we've had nothing but pizza for the last seven consecutive meals and obscene amounts of Doritos, skittles, and Code Red in between. And like a ton of carrots and peas. We could not come to school in that state. Not even Alli could pull that off."

Isaac did not believe him, Lydia had completely lost interest, and Scott was giving him a look that hovered between betrayal and relief.

"Dude," Stiles said, "I promise. I would never do that to you. I would never do that to Derek either. It was just two friends getting clean at the same time and in the same location." 

Scott nodded, relaxing. He wasn't happy, but he wasn't pissed. Isaac was still freaked out. Stiles wasn't sure if it was Derek related or Allison related. Either one would do the trick.

He didn't remember the panties until he reached into his pocket for his Adderol after class was over and he'd failed to focus on the lecture for more than thirty seconds at a pop the entire time. He came up with green silk instead, which he shoved into Alli's hand.

"Here," he said, "I grabbed these for you off the clean pile in the laundry room."

She grinned, dimpling at him again. "Oh, my god, thanks. I hate going commando."

Isaac and Scott both choked.

"Come on, sweetie," Lydia said, tugging on Allison's arm, "Let's go do something about your hair."

By the time lunch rolled around, everyone in the pack and ninety-five percent of the student body knew that Stiles Stilinski had taken a shower with Allison Argent. And somehow that he was wearing her deodorant. Which he was, because when you were a seventeen year old boy and friends with a bunch of people with doggy noses and you had a choice between no pit-stick or lady pit-stick, you picked the lady pit-stick. That was just good manners. And it smelled like baby powder, so it wasn't even flowery or fruity like the body wash or ginger like the shampoo. Although, ginger was really nice, it turned out. He would totally consider getting ginger shampoo. He wondered if Derek liked the smell of ginger.

Erica and Boyd took deep and unsubtle sniffs as they sat down at the lunch table and Danny just pretended nothing was weird. As if it'd all go away if he didn't acknowledge it. Stiles had gone through a phase like that in regards to the supernatural shit in general. It had lasted about forty minutes, and then he'd given in because thinking about it was way too cool, and he wasn't going to deprive himself. Isaac still looked upset as he plopped down a little too close to Stiles on the bench. Scott was back to normal. Either he trusted Stiles or he was finally moving on from Allison. Or both. Both would be good. For everyone involved. Lydia was staring at Alli's shirt.

"I said you could borrow one of mine," Lydia said, "That thing looks ridiculous on you."

"I know," Alli said, "but it's super soft, and I don't know. It smells like Derek. It's kind of nice."

Stiles totally knew what she meant. It was one of the main reasons he wore Derek's shirts so often. Lydia looked skeptical, but she took the fabric between two fingers and sniffed it experimentally.

"You're right," she said, "That is nice. Stiles, give me yours."

Stiles was pulling off his shirt and handing it to her before it occurred to him to ask questions like what was he going to wear or to refuse. She pulled it on over the top of her clothes, wriggled around, and a second later, produced her crop top through the neckline. It was miraculous.

"I can't wear that," Stiles said, because he could not pull off that look, okay? He was not that kind of guy.

"I'm wearing one of Derek's tank-tops," Erica said, "You can trade with me."

She didn't bother pretending she wasn't putting on a show as she stripped off the tan singlet and put on Lydia's crop top, which was significantly shorter on her because it had a lot more rack to cover and she was like five inches taller than Lydia even when she wasn't in stilettos. Stiles reached for the tank-top, but Scott was already shoving his t-shirt into Stiles' hand and taking Derek's singlet for himself.

"Dude," Scott said, "You can't pull off the tank-top look. I mean, you've got shoulders, but just no. Wear mine."

At this point, Stiles just wanted to be clothed in public, so he put on Scott's t-shirt. Also, Scott was right. He'd look ridiculous with Derek's tank-top bagging off his lack of enormous muscles. And really, even if it fit, that just wasn't a look he could carry. 

"This is better," Isaac said, sniffing him, "There are more scents on you. It's closer to normal."

He leaned down and rubbed his face and hair on Stiles' shoulders and upper back, and then sat up again with a nod and relaxed for the first time that day. Weirdo. But the fact that three of the people at this table had come to school wearing Derek's clothing was raising some questions.

"Okay, honesty time," Stiles said, "How many of you guys wear Derek's clothes on occasion?"

The answer was Erica, Isaac, and Boyd. Not counting Stiles, of course. He was a given.

"I can totally get on board with this thing," Allison said, "Even if it was an accident."

"How did you two end up in the shower together?" Boyd asked, "I couldn't get a straight answer that made any sense."

"We were coming off forty-eight hours of Star Wars gaming," Stiles said, "Battlefront, KoTOR, and Battlefront II. It was epic, man, and you don't interrupt that shit for something as trivial as sleep. So, we ended up dozing off on the couch and my phone got jammed down under the cushions and we didn't hear the alarm, and Mr. Argent woke us up ten minutes before we had to leave, and we were both like seriously disgusting and there wasn't time to shower separately, so we just took one at the same time. I'm sure we saved tons of water. It was expedient and environmentally conscious. We should be given an award."

"You had an entire weekend of Star Wars gaming?" Boyd asked.

"Yeah."

"I could get behind that." Boyd's voice was very quiet. 

Oh. Stiles had no idea that Boyd was into Star Wars. The guy wasn't exactly an open book, at least not one he invited Stiles to read.

"You could come to the next one," Stiles said, "as long as you're properly enthusiastic and don't do shit like ask why we know the lyrics to three different filk songs dedicated to the Han Solo-Greedo encounter. Right, Alli?"

"Totally," she said, "I have enough controllers. And also, we're adding old computer games to the roster, so you've got to be on board with watching other people play games on tiny windows with shitty graphics."

"Do you have X-wing?" Boyd asked, "I used to watch my older brother play that game. It was awesome."

"Oh, dear god," Lydia said, "Are none of you safe to spend time with anymore?"

"Scotty's a heathen," Stiles assured her, "He'll watch The Devil Wears Prada with you. Does that movie scare your dog, by the way? I feel like it should since for it to be true in the most literal sense, she'd have to be skinned by an evil deity and made into clothing. Hopefully, a loincloth if she's all the devil's wearing. But back to wearing Derek's clothes, do we need to like start up a rotation here? I mean, I've got a lot of his shirts at my house, but I won't be stingy if other people miss him too. Or if you want a color other than the one you have."

"I want purple," Lydia said.

"Yeah, a color of a shirt he would actually own. I mean, I could ask him to wear a purple shirt in Brazil and mail it to me without washing it like people used to do in like the seventeen-hundreds to keep their spouses faithful while they were fifty miles, AKA seventeen years' journey, away. You know, because nothing says sexy like a sweaty button down in a box. Although, in this day and age, I don't know if they'd let it through customs, and even if they did, it'd be crawling with foreign bacteria from the nature he's probably frolicking around in with Peter and his pissy sister. We'd all catch something and die. Or it'd get loose in the ecosystem and kill off all the native bacteria."

"I'm not wearing that tan thing," Lydia said, "Does it look like it's the right color for my skin?"

"No one is going to make you wear anything you don't want to," Stiles said, "We're all working hard to avoid certain death. I'm just tossing out ideas." 

"I suggest tossing out anything that's that color," Lydia said.


	26. Noah

"You need to have a talk with your son about appropriate behavior between friends," the person on the other end of the connection said when Noah answered his phone.

"Who is this?" he asked, although he was pretty sure he knew the answer.

"Chris Argent." Yep. That sounded about right.

"And my son did what now?" Noah asked. Probably asked a thousand inappropriate questions about Allison's menstrual cycle.

"He took a shower with my daughter," Argent said. Okay, Noah could not have heard that one correctly. A shower with Allison? Why would Stiles want to hop in a shower with her? He was currently most likely in a shower-hopping relationship with Derek Hale, and Stiles was not a cheater.

"He what?" Noah asked.

"I don't really want to repeat that." So, shower it was. Stiles was showering with girls now. Maybe, platonically like he sometimes did with Scott? Even that was a little weird, but those two had always had blurry lines between them. Noah had some memories in there of Stiles giving Scott instructions on how to grope his ass while making out with him and not have it be super awkward. Noah had kept walking right past the room on that one and sent Melissa to deal with it. Not his least cowardly moment.

"I'm going to need a little context here," he said.

"I came downstairs to start making breakfast and found your son and my daughter wrapped around one another on the living-room couch half an hour before school started," Argent said, "I woke them up, and they ran off and hopped into the shower together and then raced out the door while still pulling their clothes on. And Stiles grabbed a pair of Allison's underwear from the laundry pile as he left."

Okay, that was a pretty vague level of description, which was good for his sanity but not so much for determining how high his panic level should be right now.

"Are you telling me they're having sex?" Noah asked. Because that was the important question here.

"I think we both know who your son is having sex with," Argent said. Oh, boy.

"No, we do not," Noah said with a calm he wasn't feeling at all, "I know who I strongly suspect my son is having sex with, but I have no solid, non-circumstantial evidence, and I'm not going to act on supposition. I will, however, have a long conversation with Stiles about boundaries and healthy platonic behavior, and what sorts of things fathers are allowed to shoot their daughter's friends for doing."

Noah was not going to think too hard about the fact that Stiles hadn't had a fresh hickey, love-bite, or sex bruise since Derek Hale took his uncle and sister and went to South America. No, he was not. That was a coincidence.

Argent sighed. "I'm not going to shoot him. If it had been any of her other male friends, I'd probably be seriously considering it, but Stiles... he's been good for her. He's really stepped up since Victoria died. I'm sure you heard about Allison's breakdown and her behavior afterwards and her grandfather's influence. Stiles never held any of it against her. He didn't make her prove herself to him. He just gave her another chance when she tried to make things right, and he's encouraged others to do the same. He's a good kid. A good man. And I don't think anything happened in that shower that wasn't completely innocent. If I did, I wouldn't have called you to talk about it. But some things, you just don't do, and taking a shower with a girl you aren't dating is one of them. Especially if she's my daughter."

"I've noticed them spending more time together," Noah said, "Does she talk to him about her mom?"

"Yes. A lot. More than she does with me. And he talks about his mother too. I try to give them privacy."

"Yeah, so do I. I'll talk with him about the shower thing and the underwear and the sleeping together."

"That part wasn't actually so bad. They were at least clothed, and there was a blanket between them."

"Still. Boundaries are important."

"They are, and Sheriff?"

"Yeah."

"Derek Hale is a good man too, and I think your son's been an even better friend for him than he's been for Allison."

"He's twenty-three."

"Age works differently for werewolves. Derek's twenty-three how humans see things, but he may even be younger than Stiles by a little the way weres do. His uncle, Peter, went into the Hale fire looking maybe eighteen. I remember. It's been seven years, and he looks like he's aged twenty just from the emotional trauma. He'll probably stay exactly like he is now for the next fifty years. Maybe more."

"I appreciate what you're trying to do here, Argent, but the law sees Derek as a twenty-three year old man who may or may not be sexually involved with a seventeen year old child. If he is, that's illegal, and I would be remiss in my duty to the law and to my son if I didn't take action."

They changed the subject and said goodbye, and Noah sat at the kitchen table wondering what the best approach for this conversation was. Showering with Allison was inappropriate, especially if he was giving her some sort of false impression of what he wanted their relationship to be, but Noah didn't think that was Stiles' intention. Most likely, they had just been in a rush, and Stiles hadn't thought about it long enough to realize how it could be misconstrued. Probably just a quick reminder of basic, human behavior would do the trick. Probably no need to sit him down for a serious talk. Might as well save that for when they got around to discussing Derek Hale.

Stiles came through the front door talking on his phone. Not all that surprising. He was using one of his soothing voices, and Noah was too curious about the conversation to interrupt before he heard at least part of it.

"Isaac, Isaac, relax. I promise you that's not going to happen. Because I don't want it to happen, and my wanting it would be vital to its execution. Allison is a gorgeous woodland nymph, and no man in his right mind would turn her down, but I'm in a fully committed relationship with the hottest hunk of werewolf ever to set foot in Beacon Hills, and the one and only person who stands even the smallest chance of tempting me away is Lydia Martin. I didn't give her my shirt because I wanted my scent on her. I gave her my shirt because only a fool refuses a direct order from an acid-wit-wielding genius banshee death-goddess. I have self preservation instincts, and when they tell me something like your life is worth more than your dignity and stripping in the middle of the lunch room is better than what will happen to you if you don't, I listen to them. I have excellent instincts. Shut up, I totally do. Yes, he knew about the bro-a-thon. I've been talking to him about it since its conception. Dude, I texted him about that all during first hour. Well, the lecture was boring, and I hadn't taken my Adderol yet. It wasn't like I was going to remember any of it. I'll just borrow Lydia's notes. Dude, everyone borrows Lydia's notes. It's one of the main reasons they pass any of their classes with monsters and hunters trying to rip them limb from limb during their study time. She would totally lend them to you, man. You just have to shield your balls and ask. I promise the withering stares get less intimidating once you learn to power through them, and this is coming from the guy who had the world's hugest crush on her for like seven years. You're a good beta, Isaac. I know you're trying to help. Derek would be proud, and he'd appreciate that you're so aware of how these things could affect the whole pack. Okay, say hi to Melissa for me. I'm sure you can have a granola bar for a snack, dude, even one of the chocolate chunk ones. Fine, tell her I gave you permission. Okay, bye."

Stiles stabbed the end icon on his phone, shoved it in his pocket and started toeing off his shoes.

"Goddamn, that kid is needy," he muttered, "He's going to call Derek anyway, I just know it. Why do I waste my time reassuring him when he's just going to run off and ask the person he really wants an answer from four seconds after we're done talking?"

Noah was not going to think about the words fully-committed relationship coming out of his seventeen year old son's mouth, and he was going to say hottest hunk of werewolf was a subjective term. Stiles could think any of the werewolves he'd met was the hottest. Just because Derek Hale would probably take the title if you asked the majority of the population of people attracted to men, that didn't mean it had to be him.

"This about you taking a shower with Allison Argent?" Noah asked. Stiles jumped about a foot off the ground and crashed into the wall when he landed. Noah suppressed a snicker.

"Oh, my god, did Mr. Argent call and threaten to kill me or something? I went there to clean up after school just like I said I would. The only thing I left was Alli's Jabba Jar, but I bought that for her. That reminds me, I might need to get one for Boyd now too."

"Stiles, you know you can't go around taking showers with girls like they're Scott. They're girls, for one, and you might give them the wrong impression about your attachment level."

"I know," Stiles said, "and it was her idea. Why does everyone keep assuming it was my idea? I was going to take a speed shower after she was done, but she just dragged me in with her. And Alli knows I'm not into her. I'm into someone else, like really into them. You... probably heard what I said just now, didn't you? Alli knows I don't think of her like that, and she doesn't think of me like that either. We're just good friends."

"I know, just be more careful in the future, okay? Getting calls from Chris Argent is not the most fun thing in the world."

"Oh, believe me. I know." Stiles was waiting for him to bring up Derek. He could see it in the tension in his shoulders and hands and the way his face was gearing up for mutiny and a load of lies and evasions. It might be good to let him vent them, but Noah wasn't ready for this conversation, so he was going to take the low road and diffuse the situation.

"Sounds like Isaac's still getting used to living at Scott's," he said.

Stiles blinked. "Yeah. I don't think he knows if he's supposed to act like a guest or like another one of Melissa's kids. I think with Derek it was like living with an older brother, kind of. Melissa's more of the mother-figure type. He's not sure how to act."

"Have any of you talked to her about it?"

"No. I don't even know how I would approach a conversation like that." 

How Stiles would approach a conversation like that. Not Scott, who was her son and supposed to be in charge while Derek was out of town. Not Derek, who was Isaac's guardian and had arranged the living situation. Not even Peter, who was Derek's second in command and at least an adult. Somehow, this was Stiles' responsibility. Or at least Stiles thought it was. Which made him wonder again just what Stiles' position in the pack was. No one had been able to give him a clear answer, but the only person who seemed to outrank him was Derek.

"I'll mention it to her," Noah said, "We're having dinner together on Thursday."

Stiles was giving him a look. "Like a date?"

"Like two friends whose sons are involved in dangerous and inexplicable shit and who need to catch up and talk about how they deal with it," Noah said.

"So, like a date where you whine about your kids."

"Like dinner with a friend, Stiles."

"Okay, okay." Stile held his hands up in surrender. "Not a date. Just friends."

He actually let it go after that, which was a relief, because Noah was trying very hard to avoid having a conversation with his son about dating. Although, he was pretty sure dinner with Melissa on Thursday was a date. It felt like a date. It had sounded like she wanted it to be one when she'd invited him. Okay, it was a date, but he wasn't going to tell Stiles that. Maybe, if it went well, he would.


	27. Derek

Scott was one of the last people Derek thought he'd get a call from while he was in Brazil. He'd given him a burner phone like he had Stiles because Scott was Alpha while he and Peter were out of town, and he needed to be able to contact Derek. He just hadn't expected Scott to use it. He'd hoped he wouldn't have to. But that was his name in the caller ID.

"Scott," he said.

"You have to come home," Scott said, "like now, dude. Seriously, something is going on with Stiles."

"Is this about the shower thing? Isaac already--"

"It's not that. Stiles is sick. Like really sick."

"What kind of sick?" It had to be bad or Scott wouldn't call him. Derek's stomach twisted.

"He's having hallucinations and nightmares and sort of fugue states like Lydia did," Scott said, "He's not sleeping or eating, he's even more paranoid than usual, and his temper is really short. And there's been some bad stuff going on that he's convinced he has something to do with, but he can't remember doing it. And he said for a while he was having trouble reading. I don't know, man, but it's freaking me out."

"Okay, some of that might be caused by not sleeping." Please let this just be a bad case of sleep deprivation. Derek had feeling that it was something a whole lot worse.

"I don't think that's the problem." Scott's voice was more serious than Derek had ever heard it before. "I don't know how much he's told you about his mom, but he's been acting a lot like she did around the time she got diagnosed. I... you should come home. She died really fast, Derek. Like, it was only a couple of months after they found out what she had. You need to come home." 

Shit. Derek didn't know what had gone down with Stiles' mom. It was one of the few things Stiles hadn't been willing to open up about yet. But he had said a few things. Like the fact that she couldn't remember who he was by the time she'd died.

"Does the pack know about his Mom?" Derek asked to give himself some time to think.

"I think Allison might, but not the rest of them. I haven't told them. I don't want to tell them about it if that's not what this is."

"There are things that can mimic the symptoms of diseases. Do you know how it started?" There were things that did that. If it was one of them, there was a chance they could fix this before it became permanent or Stiles died.

"He, Allison, and I started having weird symptoms after the whole thing with the ice baths and the Nemeton," Scott said, "Nothing major at first, but they got worse. Allison kept hallucinating about Kate, I was having trouble controlling my Alpha shift, and Stiles was having nightmares where he couldn't tell if he was awake or not. Deaton said something about an open door in our minds and needing to close it, but he couldn't really tell us how, and Kira said something about Bardo and the end of it being death. My and Allison's problems went away after we helped Malia turn back human, but Stiles is getting worse. And Isaac was attacked by something. He said it was a person wearing black with a mask over their face and glowing greenish eyes, and they made him get really cold and pass out. He wasn't hurt other than that, except for a mark behind his ear like a number five. Argent said he thinks he knows who that was, and he's looking into it. Isaac insists he's fine now, so I'm more worried about Stiles."

Derek knew what Bardo was, and he was pretty sure the masked figure was an Oni, which meant a Kitsune was in town, but there were a couple names in there he wasn't familiar with.

"Who are Kira and Malia?" he asked.

"Right," Scott said, "Stiles might not have told you. Malia is a werecoyote. She went missing years ago when she was a little girl. We think she accidentally shifted in the car with her mom and sister and couldn't control herself. The car went into a ravine, and they never found her body. She's been living in the woods as a full-coyote ever since, but Sheriff Stilinski thought the case might be related to werewolves and asked me to see if I could find out what actually happened to her. We found her in the woods and got her to shift back. She's with her dad, and I think he may have sent her somewhere to get therapy for what happened, but none of us have spoken to her in person since. Oh, and my dad is in town, by the way. The FBI is investigating the Beacon Hills Sheriff's Department, and he's in charge. So, look out for that."

Great. The FBI. That was exactly who he needed sniffing around his territory and calling him in for questioning as a person of interest. Scott didn't sound all that happy to see the guy either.

"And who's Kira?" Derek asked.

"Kira's new at school. Her dad teaches history. She heard us talking and wanted to help."

Derek could hear the goofy smile and the googly eyes Scott was making right now. At least he was moving on from Allison.

"Are you thinking about letting her into the pack?" Derek asked.

"Dude, it's your pack. That would be your call. We haven't told her anything yet, but I think she might not be human. She said she's never been sick, ever, with anything, and someone took a picture of her and she had this glowing aura around her. Not like our eyes, but not normal either."

Yeah, that sounded like a kitsune, but if she couldn't even control her aura, she wasn't old enough to have tails. The Oni belonged to someone else. Great. Two kitsunes. At least one was a young one.

"What does Stiles think of her?" Derek asked. Because paranoid or not, Stiles had good instincts about people.

"He hasn't said other than to notice that I was interested," Scott said, "and he's like super paranoid right now, so if he thought she was even a little bit hinky, he'd have said something."

Hinky? Someone was watching NCIS again. He should probably explain the kitsunes and the Oni, but it'd be easier to do that in person, so that could wait until he got back. Also, if he knew how to fight them rather than just how to identify them and some of the things they could do, that'd help. He'd have to see what Peter knew.

"Keep an eye out," Derek said, "and keep one on Kira and her family, just in case. I'll come home as soon as I can. Keep me updated."

Shit. Cora wasn't going to be happy about this. He'd only been here a little over a month, and that was a lot less than he'd planned to stay.

Derek went back to the house where she and Peter were eating lunch.

"I have to go back to Beacon Hills," he said.

"Already?" Cora said, pouting a little.

"I know it's sooner than we planned, but Scott called. Something's really wrong with Stiles, and I think there's a Kitsune in Beacon Hills looking for someone. He said something about an Oni testing Isaac. I have to get back."

"Shit," Cora said, "Foxes fucking suck."

"Do you need me to come too?" Peter asked.

"Not yet," Derek said, "I'm hoping I can find the Kitsune and talk to them, figure out what they want and get them to leave. Then I can deal with Stiles. If it turns out to be a quick fix, there's no reason to cut both our visits short. I'll let you know if we need you."

"What did Scott say was wrong with Stiles?" Cora asked.

"He said they didn't know yet but that the symptoms reminded him of what Stiles' mom had."

"What did Stiles' mom have?" Cora asked.

"I don't know. Something with her brain, I think. Stiles doesn't talk about it. But Scott said she died within months of her diagnosis."

"Are you sure you don't want me to come now?" Peter asked.

"I think I'd like to have an ace in the hole if the Kitsune turns out to be Void," Derek said, "And that means you need to lie low. I'll call if you need to come, or if I need advice. I'll need you to tell me what you can about kitsunes before I go, though."

"Well, first off, be careful," Peter said, "Foxes are tricky. And I'll need a little time to remember everything I know."

"You know I'd come if you needed me, right?" Cora asked.

"I know," Derek said, but he could tell she didn't really want to go back, and he wasn't going to ask.

Derek was on a flight to the States within six hours, and after two layovers and long cab ride, he was standing on the sidewalk outside Beacon Hills High School, scanning the parking lot for the Toyota, which should be out of the repair shop by now. He needed to get himself a new car.

"Derek!"

He turned and found himself with a face-full of brown hair that smelled like gingersnaps and a small, soft body pressed against his chest.

"Allison," he said, hugging her back automatically. Not the first person he'd expect to hug him, but whatever. She was pack.

"You're home," she said, stepping back to hold his right hand in both of hers and grin up at him, "I didn't think you were coming back until after New Years."

"Scott called and- are you wearing my shirt?" That was definitely one of his long-sleeved t-shirts. It hung off her like a tent even though she'd belted it, and the sleeves were rolled up to her elbows.

She blushed. "Yeah. We all kind of wear them sometimes. I was feeling anxious when I woke up this morning, and it made me feel better when I could smell you a little. Oh, my god, that sounded so weird when I said it out loud. It didn't sound that bad in my head."

Did she just say what he thought she did? He was pretty sure she had, but he didn't think she knew what it meant. He was going to have to call Chris Argent, and have a very uncomfortable conversation about his daughter's level of commitment to this pack.

"It's fine," he said, "It's not weird to be comforted by your Alpha's scent. They're supposed to protect you. You should feel better when you know they're around."

"So, Scott called, huh?"

"Yeah. He said something was wrong with Stiles, and he thought it was getting worse, not better."

"Scott's more worried than the rest of us," she said, her eyebrows furrowed, "I think he knows something we don't, but he won't say."

So, Allison didn't know what had killed Stiles' mom either. Or else, Stiles hadn't been very specific about her symptoms. Or else, Scott recognized it because he'd been there the first time around, and Allison had only heard stories. At any rate, she hadn't made the connection.

"Think you could give me a ride?" Derek asked, "I don't see the pack car anywhere."

"Boyd took the car just now to drop Lydia off at home because he's the only one who intimidates Aiden. Isaac and Erica are helping my dad follow a lead on a guy named Silverfinger, so he picked them up."

That accounted for part of the pack. "Scott and Stiles?"

"Scott's at Kira's. Her parents invited him over to dinner as a thank you for saving her from William Barrow. He's been freaking out all day. Stiles went to the Sheriff's station to drop off his dad's dinner. Then he's going home to research some place called Oak Creek. It was an internment camp during World War II, we think. I'm going to meet him there and help, but I had to talk to Janet Freedman about our biology paper first."

"Danny?"

"His parents grounded him when he stayed out all night without calling to get permission. He has to go straight home after school for two weeks. He said he'd call if he found anything good about Oak Creek."

"Think you have time to drop me at the loft before Stiles gets home?" Derek asked.

"Why don't you come with me?" she offered, "I think seeing you would really help. It'd be a nice surprise for him. He might actually smile."

"I'm going to want to do a lot of things to him that I won't be able to do with you there," Derek said, "I doubt much research would get done."

She grinned again and poked him in the side. "Okay, then you can be his lovely surprise, and I can go home to do research while you two hump like bunnies. I think that would be an awesome plan. Stiles needs a good humping. I think it'd do wonders for his mood."

Derek knew he should say no, but now that he was here and picking up traces of Stiles' scent on Allison and around the school, he really, really wanted to get more of it. He wanted to roll in it. He wanted to taste it. He wanted his hands on Stiles' body and the feel of it underneath him, squirming and writhing. He wanted to feel him tight and hot around his cock. He wanted to hear the sounds he made when Derek fucked into him. 

"Okay, I know there aren't a lot of people here right now," Allison said, "but if you keep flashing your eyes like that, someone's bound notice. They're not exactly a subtle shade of red anymore. But I'm going to take that as you agreeing to my idea."

Shit. He needed to think about something else. His wolf was already chomping at the bit, ready to go, ready to fuck and claim its mate. Derek turned his eyes back to human green and followed her to her car. She popped the trunk and helped him load in his bags, and then gave him a more complete run-down of what was going on as she drove to Stiles' house. He made himself focus on it.

"Why don't you take what you need for the night out of your bags, and I'll bring the rest to the loft?" she suggested when they arrived, "That way you don't have to transfer them six more times. I'll call Stiles and tell him I'm going to be late, and you can wait inside."

He took the offer, and found himself inside the house with nothing to do. So, he took a quick shower to clean the airplane and taxi smells off his skin. Stiles got home just as he stepped out. Derek slung a towel around his waist. In case Stiles wanted to talk first or just talk instead having sex. God, he hoped he was up for sex. Stiles came thundering up the stairs and crashed right into him. Not watching where he was going. Derek caught him and pulled him up against his chest, leaning down to breathe in his scent. Fuck, that was good. There was stress and fatigue and anger, but under it was Stiles. Warm, familiar, and his. It just needed to smell a lot more like Derek's cum, and then it'd be perfect.

"Derek?" Stiles hands skimmed up his arms to his chest. "Are you real? Oh, my god, you're real. You're really here. You came home. You're early. I thought you were going to stay with Cora longer. You know what, fuck this."

Stiles threw his arms around Derek's neck and jumped up to wrap his legs around his hips, grinding into him and knocking the towel to the floor. "Fuck me. Right now. Sex now, talk later. Seriously. So much sex. Dad's working a double shift. He's not going to be home until after supper tomorrow, and I don't want to be able to walk by then. God, I missed you. You're so hot. And you're naked. That was good planning. C'mon, Derek. Kiss me. Fuck me hard. I wanna feel it. Mark me up."

Derek slammed him against the wall and did just that.


	28. Stiles

Ethan and Aiden were both dead. Stiles hadn't been there when it happened. He'd been inside the school with Scott, Isaac, and Lydia trying to find his terrifying, evil doppleganger and change its body. But it was his fault. They'd been helping the pack try to defeat the monster he'd given form to and unleashed on them all. 

He should have called Peter before Scott called Derek. He should have called him the day he sent himself to Eichen House. Peter would have taken care of it before he could hurt the pack. But he hadn't, and just because Erica, Boyd, and Allison weren't dead, that didn't mean he hadn't hurt them. He remembered doing it. He hadn't liked it, but the Nogitsune had, and he'd felt how good their pain felt to the Nogitsune, felt how it made it stronger. And god, the things he'd said to his dad and Melissa. And to Derek. And Scott. Fuck. Stiles knew how to hurt them, okay? He knew. He didn't do it because he loved them. But the Nogitsune had wanted to hurt them, and it had used Stiles' knowledge of them and their vulnerabilities to do it. Thank god, it hadn't talked to Alli. He should have called Peter.

"What would calling Peter do?" Dad asked. He was sitting in the chair next to Stiles in the waiting room at the hospital.

Shit. Stiles hadn't meant to say any of that. He hoped that was the only part of it he'd said out loud.

"Peter's good in a tough situation," Stiles said.

"You mean, Peter would have killed you the second he suspected you were possessed."

Stiles looked at his hands where they were picking at the seam of his jeans. "A lot of people wouldn't have gotten hurt, Dad, or died."

"Just you."

"Just the Nogitsune."

"Which was in your body. If Chris Argent was barely willing to distinguish between the two of you, Peter definitely wouldn't have."

"He would have done what he needed to do to protect the pack."

Dad grabbed his head and turned it so Stiles had to look at his face. "This is not your fault, and we would not be better off if you'd died."

"A bunch of people wouldn't be injured, afraid, or dead. That sounds better to me."

"It doesn't sound better to me. You're my son. You're all I've got. There will never be any scenario where I'm better off without you."

There were tears in Dad's eyes, and Stiles had put them there again. His stomach writhed, and he looked away. Now wasn't the time to throw up, but he was going to if he kept seeing that expression on his dad's face. It was worse than when Mom died. Dad pulled him into a tight hug, cradling the back of his head. He was warm and strong, and the smell of him was so familiar and reassuring that Stiles just let himself cry. Because Dad still loved him even after he said and did horrible things.

It was a few days before he was ready to see anyone. Dad took them off work. He said he needed a breather before jumping into all the leftover shit from the Nogitsune, but Stiles was pretty sure a big part of it was to make sure Stiles didn't try to kill himself. Suicidal tendencies was on his psych evaluation, even though he was pretty sure that at this point, after all the shit he'd gone through in the last year and a half, the thing was obsolete and needed to be redone. But it was nice to hang out with his dad and play chess, poke through old cases, and watch a ton of daytime TV. Nothing that required his brain to engage too much.

Scott came by first. He brought one of Melissa's frozen casseroles and cooked it a little too long while they played the X-box and talked about nothing. His dad was sticking around, apparently, and saying he wanted to be a bigger part of Scott's life, but Scotty wasn't holding his breath. It wasn't going to last. This wasn't the first time Agent McCall had made half-baked promises. Melissa was annoyed, but she wasn't going to go so far as to forbid the guy from contacting Scott unless Scott asked her to specifically. The fact that he hadn't told Stiles that he probably did actually want his dad to be involved. Even if he wasn't ready to admit it.

Stiles didn't ask if he knew their parents were dating.

Derek came the day after Scott, and they ended up curled on Stiles' bed, naked because the skin-to-skin contact was nice, while Stiles told him about everything he'd seen and felt while the Nogitsune was controlling him. They didn't have sex that day, but Derek spent a long time marking him all over, licking, biting, sucking, dragging his beard across his skin, until Stiles was shaking from the intensity. He woke up the next morning sore like he'd been thoroughly fucked, and then they did have sex, slow and gentle and lazy. He went through school in a daze, but that was fine because the pack kept him from falling down the stairs or whatever, and the teachers didn't call on him in class. When he got home, Peter was outside, leaning against his new car.

"You should have called me," was all he said.

"I know," Stiles said, "I was going to, but by the time I was sure it was necessary, the Nogitsune was too strong."

"Next time, don't wait," Peter said.

Stiles nodded.

"But I'm glad you're you again."

"So am I."

"Looks like Derek is too."

"Shut up, Peter."

And Peter got in his car with a smirk and left.

Allison brought him cookies shaped like the Millennium Falcon, cupcakes decorated like the death star, the boxed set of all six Star Wars movies, and a bootleg copy of the Christmas special. They only left the couch to pee, and Stiles didn't think about her arm in a sling and the way she was careful not to put pressure on her side. She held his hand a little too tight and said it wasn't his fault.

The rest of the pack came a few at a time. Erica, Isaac, and Boyd. Danny, Lydia, and Allison. Lydia on her own, but only to force him out of the loose clothes he was wearing and into something more fitted because she said she was not going to let him backslide into bad fashion choices just because he'd been possessed by an evil fox spirit. Allison came with Isaac, and based on the way they were looking at one another when the other person wasn't looking, they were going to be dating soon. Scott, Boyd, Isaac, and Danny came to drag him out of the house for pick-up lacrosse practice since the team wasn't going to competitions right now with Coach in the hospital. Erica brought him a new baseball bat that she'd clearly stolen from the school since his old one had gone missing. Even Chris Argent came once to give him a packet from the Argent's files about possible after effects of being possessed and to say he was glad Stiles was back to normal. Which Stiles took to mean he forgave him for almost getting his daughter killed. Scott brought Kira once, so she could meet the real Stiles. She was sweet and awkward. Stiles could see why Scott was into her.

Malia Tate also came with Scott a few times because he was teaching her how to get back in touch with her inner coyote. Derek was helping too, but Scott could help her at school as well as in their down time, and she responded more to his teaching methods. Stiles liked her. She was absolutely unapologetic and as blunt as a punch in the face. And she was aggressive, which, if they could get her loyal to the pack before the next monster the Nemeton sucked into its vortex came around to try its hand at killing them all, would only work in their favor. Their offensive line was down to Derek and Peter again, and Peter was a beta now, even if he was still a vicious fucker.

But the person who came by the most was Derek. Sometimes even when Dad was home, although that was always him as alpha visiting a recovering pack member, and they all pretended they believed it for even a second. Even Dad, who had to know by now that Stiles and Derek were more than friends but seemed determined to live in deep, deep denial. Stiles did not argue with that decision. That was a good decision. Dad also seemed to have decided that he liked Derek, possibly because Derek had been so adamantly against anyone killing Stiles to get rid of the Nogitsune, and sometimes, Stiles heard him planting notions in Derek's head that maybe he'd like to become a deputy one day. Yeah, that was learned behavior. Derek hadn't noticed yet, and Stiles hadn't pointed it out, because it wasn't that horrible an idea, and Derek would be so fucking hot in the uniform. And he could have Dad's back when he had to go arrest scary people. Also, it'd give Derek a chance to try and figure out what in hell Deputy Parrish was. Other than really cute.

Stiles had eyes, okay? Parrish was cute, and he had a really nice ass. Derek's was better, and Stiles was in no way tempted to stray, not that he knew if Parrish was even into men at all, but he wasn't immune to occasionally noticing the charms of other people. Besides, he'd seen Derek looking at the guy's ass a couple of times too. And once at Chris Argent's, but that was disturbing, even if the guy was ripped for an older gentleman. That was almost as bad as the time he'd caught Erica giving Dad a once over. He'd wanted to gouge out his own eyes.

Peter didn't come to see him again, but Stiles did, on occasion, show up at his apartment to drink his expensive scotch until he felt numb and watch films in foreign languages that he didn't understand. He didn't do it too often, and Peter didn't take his key back or tell him to fuck off. He just called Scott to collect Stiles after he fell asleep, and Roscoe was always in Scott's driveway in the morning. Sometimes, he'd translate the dialogue in the films, but Stiles wasn't sure if he was making shit up or not, so he didn't take it too seriously. 

In January, Danny's parents decided Beacon Hills was too much for them and that they were moving to San Francisco. Danny wasn't surprised, even if he wasn't happy about it. Derek said he would still be pack, but that if he wanted to back off from the whole supernatural thing, now that he was going to have some physical distance, he'd understand. Danny still hadn't said one way or the other when they left the week before Valentine's Day, but he did ask Derek a lot of questions about whose territory it was down there and what sort of reception he should expect. The answer was that a city that big didn't belong to one pack, it was kind of no man's land, and whoever was there would most likely leave him alone since he was human, even if he was in a pack.

February started well, and then, because life liked to shit all over Stiles and his friends, Derek went missing, and all they could find at the loft was blood, a strange scent, and a handful of bullet casings with skulls on them.


	29. Stiles

They didn't take everyone when they went down to Mexico. Peter stayed in Beacon Hills with Erica, Boyd, and Allison. Stiles, Lydia, Scott, Isaac, Malia, and Kira drove down in Roscoe and Kira's car under the guise of a camping trip. Allison would have come, but Argent put his foot down. He wasn't letting her anywhere near the Calaveras. Stiles was pretty sure he didn't want a repeat of Gerard only with the other side of the family. He'd told Stiles that the Calaveras stuck to the code strictly, but that they were extremely harsh, and the pack needed to be careful not to lose control, turn anyone, or kill anyone. Why he was telling Stiles this instead of Scott, who was acting-Alpha with Derek missing, Stiles wasn't certain, but he just said he'd make sure they were and passed the warning along.

Araya Calavera was scarier than Argent and his wife had ever been, but she didn't have Derek, and she let them go under the condition that they bring her Kate Argent. Who'd somehow turned into some sort of were-something and whom the Calaveras had failed to kill or contain when they had the chance. Stiles wasn't sure how this translated into being the pack's fault or their responsibility to clean up. Sure, technically, Peter had turned her, but turning by a scratch was like one chance in a million, okay? There was no reason to suspect she was anything other than stone cold dead, especially after she'd supposedly been shoved in a coffin and buried. And it wasn't like they were the ones who gave her a weapon to kill her guards with and escape captivity. Seriously, who did shit like that? Code or no code, that was sheer idiocy. Self-preservation instincts were strong for a reason. If you needed someone dead, you just goddamn killed them and made sure it was done right. You didn't demand they commit suicide for a code they didn't believe in. Kate had torched the Hale house with innocent people inside. Human people. Clearly, the code was not a thing for her. The Calaveras should have just blown her head off with a shotgun shell full of wolfsbane pellets and had done with it.

Stiles was maybe a little biased in this case, but he didn't feel bad about it. She was as psychotic as her father, and she deserved to die.

She got away from them too when they tracked her to the church, but that was because they were more concerned with Derek. Who was significantly younger than the last time they'd seen him. How in hell was that even possible, and why did everyone and their sister know how to do stuff like this? It shouldn't be that common. What did you learn today? Oh, just how to bring myself back from the dead by possessing a girl I bit shortly before I kicked it, what about you? Me? I took this great class on de-aging alpha werewolves. What the hell? Seriously, what the hell? Because Stiles would like to attend a class on how to reverse said de-aging, and no one was sending him pamphlets in the mail.

They took Derek to Deaton because they had no other choice. Peter didn't know what had happened or how, and he was their only other resource for this sort of freaky magical hoo-ha. Deaton said they had to wait for Derek to wake up before he'd know what to do, and so they waited. And of course, Derek woke up when the only person there was Lydia, whom he didn't recognize, and then Deaton tried to give him a shot, because he was a fucking moron, and Derek ran off. Straight home. To the burned out, and now demolished, Hale house. And then to the Sheriff's station when Deputy Parrish and Deputy Haigh came to ask why he was trespassing. Lydia called Scott, Scott grabbed Stiles out of his pre-calc class, and they both went down to the station to sort it out. 

And now Stiles was face to face with a teenage Derek, who was staring at him with a perplexed expression on his face. Perplexed and a little put out. Like he wasn't sure what he was seeing, but he was pretty sure he wasn't too fond of it. Great. They were back at square one. Better than square two where Derek knew he hated Stiles. But they could still get there. Give it time. Square three was cautious trust and copious sex, so Stiles would be okay if they skipped right to that one. Or square four where Derek was madly and passionately in love with Stiles. But that one seemed less likely. You kind of needed time to reach that one, and he hoped they had Derek back to normal before that long. 

Scott was talking to Dad in the office alone because when Stiles went to follow, Derek had made a noise that hit him right in the heart, and he'd caved like a wet paper bag and taken a seat next to him on the bench instead. Where he was being stared at. And he could think of nothing to say. At least, not in front of an audience. Parrish was at the desk in front of them. Stiles stared at him until he looked up and then made a pleading face and glanced at the door to the reception area. Parrish sighed, and because he was the nicest guy in the history of ever, got up and said he was going to go make some copies and they'd better still be here when he got back. And then he was through the door.

"You smell like you're mine," Derek said the instant Parrish was gone.

"Well, we're kind of together." Stiles wasn't sure how Derek was going to take that news. He'd said once that he hadn't realized until after he was in New York that he was even into guys at all. It might freak teenage him out to hear he was in a committed relationship, one that included sex, with a dude. Might be best to downplay it. They hadn't had sex in a while what with Derek being kidnapped, so at least he wouldn't smell like Derek's jizz, even if he smelled like he'd been rolling in his dirty shirts.

"Not kind of," Derek said, "You wouldn't smell like this if it was kind of."

"Okay, not kind of," Stiles conceded, "We're together, and it's pretty serious."

"I'm not- I've never thought about a boy before. You know, that way." Derek looked extremely uncomfortable. This was what Stiles had been trying to avoid.

"I didn't really start thinking about them until I was fifteen," Stiles said, "and I didn't stop thinking about girls when it started happening. People discover these things about themselves at different ages and different points in their lives, I guess."

"But you're mine. I can smell myself on you. So, I must think about boys that way, but I don't remember it."

"It's okay, Derek. I don't expect anything from you. You lost a big chunk of your memory, and I'm part of it. You don't know me. Even if I smell like I'm yours, you don't remember why or how we got to this point. It would be unfair of me to expect you to feel like that about me right now."

"I feel something, though," Derek said, "Your scent makes me feel something."

"It's an ingrained response, probably. We've been together for a while."

"I have- I had a girlfriend," Derek said. Stiles wasn't sure if he meant Paige or Kate, but Lydia had said Derek's eyes flashed blue, so maybe Kate? That would make sense since she was the one to de-age him. 

"I know," he said.

"When did we break up?" Derek asked, "And Why?

Yeah, Stiles was not going to discuss Kate Argent and how she'd used Derek to murder his family with a Derek who remembered her as his girlfriend. That was not emotional baggage he should be dumping on the guy's head.

"I don't know how much I'm supposed to tell you," he said instead, "Deaton said to be careful."

"The vet?" Derek asked skeptically. Looked like little Derek hadn't been aware of Deaton's side job.

"He's more than a vet," Stiles said, "He knows a lot about a lot of things. If he says we have to be careful, he's probably right."

"What happened to my house and my family?"

"You have to ask Scott about that."

"But you know too." Shit, this version of Derek was a lot more persistent than the older one.

"Ask Scott," Stiles said.

"I'd rather ask you." 

"Scott's the alpha right now. You have to ask him."

"What about my mom? She's the alpha. Did something happen to her?" Fuck.

"Scott will explain," was all Stiles could say. Because he wasn't sure how much he should be telling Derek, and he didn't think he should be making that decision on his own. There were a few too many of his emotions involved to be sure he was making the right choices.

Derek sighed and folded his arms over his chest, giving Stiles an exasperated glare. Stiles tapped his fingers on the arm of the bench faster and faster until Scott came back out of the office. From the look on his face, Stiles was in for a good, long lecture when he got home. Great. This was why he never let Scott go toe-to-toe with Dad. He always said more than he ought to.

Scott... Scott lied his ass off about the current state of the Hale family. Some bullshit about most of them having to leave town and how they were going to contact them once they'd helped Derek recover his missing memories. Derek was not buying it even if he didn't challenge Scott to his face, but Stiles backed Scott anyway, because the lie was less traumatizing than the truth. And even if Derek knew it was a lie, he couldn't deduce the truth from it. Scott sent Stiles and Derek to wait at his house while he checked another resource, which was code for talked to Peter, and Stiles drove all the way to the McCall house evading question after question from Derek about his family and the fire and how long ago it had happened until his head was spinning from the effort of keeping all the half-truths straight in his mind. This must be how people felt when they talked to Stiles. No wonder Derek had such a high tolerance for his yammering and bullshit. He was a closet yammerer and bullshitter.

And just when he thought he'd gotten Derek somewhere safe where they could relax and wait for Scott to show up with Peter in tow, he hoped, and take the heat off, Agent McCall had to materialize and offer them dinner. Stupid Scott and his stupid forgetting his dinner dates. And Derek ignored Stiles' attempts to get him far, far away from the man and insisted on eating with him. And because he was a sneaky little shit, he seized the opportunity to ask the one person who knew something and didn't know he should be keeping his damned mouth shut a thousand questions about the fire that killed his family and destroyed his home. If Stiles hadn't known Derek so well, he'd never have been able to tell he was barely keeping it together through the rest of the meal.

As soon as they were done eating, though, Derek was excusing them and pushing Stiles up the stairs ahead of him towards Scott's room, which he had to be finding by scent or something since he'd never been here before. Stiles closed the door behind them and leaned against it, watching Derek pace and pull at his hair. Which was a pretty tame reaction for a guy who'd just learned what he'd just learned.

"You lied to me," Derek said finally, hurt and anger in his tone. Focusing on the easier problems first then. Fibs before dead family. 

"It wasn't a lie, technically. I may have omitted certain truths, yes, but I never lied directly." Stiles did a mental review of their car conversation to see if that was true. Yeah, he was pretty sure it was. Scott had lied directly. Stiles hadn't.

Derek growled and came over to cage Stiles in against the door, arms on either side of him, and breathe against his neck. Which could be building up to actual throat-tearing with teeth or it could be him trying to calm down. Then he nipped, hard enough to sting and leave a mark, but not enough to break skin, and soothed it with his tongue. Over and over again until the left side of Stiles' neck and jaw was a mass of tiny red spots. It didn't feel real great, but the tension was leaving Derek's shoulders, so Stiles just kept his head back and to the side in submission and held onto the front of Derek's shirt. When Derek was calm again, he gripped Stiles' chin and turned his head so he was looking him in the eyes. 

"I know you're trying to obey the Alpha," Derek said, "and that's good. That's what you're supposed to do in a pack, but you're not supposed to lie to me. I don't know how much of this I've explained to you, I don't remember, but you're mine, okay? I know you're his too, the Alpha's, I can smell him on you, but you're mine first. That's what this means. The... thing we have together, it's more important than your bond to the alpha. You're mine before you're his. Understand? So, you shouldn't lie to me even if he tells you to."

Stiles nodded. Derek must have some interesting notions about the newness of what was going on between them and the level of Stiles' involvement in the pack. Stiles was hoping he wouldn't be too pissed later that he didn't correct them.

"Okay," Derek said, "Now, take your clothes off and get on the bed."

Stiles' brain stopped working. The blood in his body took a massive detour in the southerly direction, because despite the situation, orders like that from Derek had that effect one hundred percent of the time. Derek stepped back and stared at him expectantly, and Stiles decided fuck it. If sex was what it took to keep him here and keep him distracted until Scott got his crap together, well, there were worse ways to get it done. And Stiles was now super horny because of Bossy Bedroom Derek, which was his favorite bossy Derek. So, he pulled his shirt over his head, popped his fly, and shucked his jeans, boxers, and socks in one go. Naked in less than ten seconds. It was a skill. He wasn't sure exactly what sort of 'on the bed' Derek wanted, so he sat on the edge because it put him within easy reach and wasn't too overtly sexual, which might freak Derek out since he hadn't fooled around with a boy before. 

At first, Derek did nothing but look at Stiles. His face, his chest, his legs, his dick. Stiles could feel his skin heating up from the scrutiny. Older Derek liked to look too, but it was easy to tell what he was thinking when he did. This Derek had his poker face on. Which was usually a surefire sign that he didn't know what he wanted to do yet. It was his first time with a boy. Maybe he needed some encouragement. So, Stiles leaned back on his hands and spread his legs a little more. Open for groping, right here. It worked. Derek made a soft sound in his throat and reached out to touch. Stiles' shoulders at first, then his neck and chest and abs. His hands were warm, and his touches got firmer and more enthusiastic as he went, stroking skin, testing muscles, and tracing over Stiles' moles. Derek's face was getting flushed, and his mouth was open a little. Stiles wanted to kiss him. He wanted to touch back, but he was pretty sure Derek didn't want him to yet.

"Derek?" He pitched his voice low so it wouldn't startle him, but it still came out breathy.

"Shh." Okay, he was too busy for talking right now. Stiles could roll with that. For now. He was going to have to talk at least a little, though, because him plus sex did not equal silence, and he wasn't going to start pretending it did.

"Your skin is soft," Derek murmured, "and you're really, really pretty." 

Stiles blushed. Fucking blushed. And he gave in to the urge to touch, ran his hands lightly up Derek's sides to grip his waist. He was a lot leaner at this age, but there were muscles under his shirt, and he still felt strong and solid. Derek leaned down to kiss him carefully, like he wasn't sure what it'd feel like. Then he did it again more forcefully, and Stiles kissed back with as much fervor, reached up to slide his hands into Derek's hair and pull him closer.

"Yeah, okay," Derek said when he finally decided he needed air, "This is good. Get on your hands and knees."

Fuck, that was hot. This was progressing fast, and Stiles didn't think this Derek knew a whole lot about the practicalities of sex with boys, but he obeyed anyway because it was still insanely hot when Derek just gave him orders like that. He should ask what the game plan was before they got into anything major, though. In case there wasn't one. 

"Derek?" 

Derek shushed him again, staring at Stiles' ass in rapt fascination, and then he was touching him greedily. Running his hands over his thighs, squeezing and spreading his ass, smoothing his palms up and down Stiles' back and sides while he pushed his head and shoulders lower so his ass was pushed up, on display. Derek made a deep noise, a rumble in his chest. Yeah, this was one of his favorite positions for fucking Stiles when he was an adult too. And one of Stiles'. Lots of leverage. Derek's hands were back on Stiles' ass, but now he was looking hesitant and unsure. Maybe asking would be a bad idea. No one liked to admit they had no fucking clue what to do next during sex. Maybe Stiles should just tell him what to do. In as non-bossy a way as possible.

"Lube," Stiles whispered, "You gotta slick me up. Dry doesn't feel good for either one of us."

"I've never done this with a boy," Derek said. He was starting to look embarrassed. Not good.

"You're doing pretty damned good so far," Stiles said, "Feels awesome." 

He fished in Scott's nightstand for the lube he used when he jacked off, poured some on his own fingers, and passed the bottle and a condom he'd found next to the lube to Derek. It'd probably be a good idea for Stiles to be the one who got this ball rolling with the fingering. Derek learned best when he had a demonstration to watch. Stiles had two fingers in and was moaning quietly when Derek pulled his hand away.

"I want to try." Derek sounded breathless, and there was a bit of a growl under the words. Stiles' dick jumped and he gasped when Derek immediately pushed two of his fingers in to the last knuckle. They were longer than Stiles', and just a little thicker. Mmm. He clutched the pillow and tried to keep the noises he was making as quiet as possible so Agent McCall didn't hear while Derek got acquainted with his ass. Especially when he found his prostate and kept coming back to it just to see Stiles shake and hear him whimper.

"Derek, please." It came out high and needy and breathy, and Derek was on him instantly, sliding in all the way in a single hard thrust that somehow nailed his prostate. Stiles let out a yelp that was much too loud and wondered if some of older Derek's memories were in there somewhere because that took good aim. Or else, this Derek had really good instincts. And then he couldn't think because Derek was fucking him just a little too hard and fast, and his grip on Stiles' hips was tight enough to bruise, and every few thrusts, he hit just right. Stiles' brain was melting.

"What the hell?" Agent McCall was in the doorway. Fuck. He... Stiles just... Scott's dad was right there, and Derek was not slowing down or stopping even a little bit. Stiles could not deal with both of these things at once.

"Oh, fuck," he gasped out, reaching back to grab Derek's hip and slow him down a little so Stiles could think enough to handle this situation. Derek caught his wrist and pinned it to the bed, shifting his angle and giving a particularly forceful thrust that made a high mewling noise come out of Stiles' mouth. Okay, Derek was going to have to handle it then, because Stiles was seconds from coming, and that was pretty much using up all of his processing power.

"Go away," Derek snapped, his voice a lot deeper than it had been a minute ago. Stiles felt a hint of claw on his wrist and thigh where Derek was gripping. Shit.

"What the hell are you doing?" Agent McCall asked again. As if the answer wasn't obvious. Stiles was pretty sure he meant to ask either why weren't they stopping now that they had an audience or why were they having sex in Scott's bed. Both questions Stiles didn't want to try to answer. Derek still wasn't slowing down, and he was giving no indication that he had an intention of doing so. Stiles was pretty sure that he'd be blushing like a tomato if he wasn't already flushed, but Derek didn't seem bothered at all that Scott's dad had just walked in on them having sex. No shame. Or he was so into fucking Stiles that he couldn't focus on anything else. Both of which were super hot, but Stiles wasn't into the whole exhibition thing, and he didn't want to come in front of Agent McCall, which was a serious risk right now, so he was going to have to do something. Come on, brain. Like five seconds of anything other than Derek and his dick and the way it was making his toes curl.

"Hey," Stiles said, "you know, at some point, this goes from shocked parent catching kids in the act to a grown man watching two teenage boys have sex, and we're gonna be there in a second or two. So, you might wanna go before you have to arrest yourself." 

Derek let go of his wrist to turn Stiles' head the other direction. "Don't talk to him."

God. Bossy. Stiles would care more if the way Derek was fucking him didn't feel so good. He would care later. After the sex. They could talk about it. But right now... fuck, he was gonna come. He heard the door close. McCall was gone. Probably calling Melissa. Wait. What was going on in his ass? That... Derek's dick was getting thicker. At least, part of it was. And now that he thought about it, it didn't feel like there was a condom going on here. He'd given Derek a condom, hadn't he? He was pretty sure he had. But more importantly, why was Derek's dick growing? Fuck, he wasn't prepped enough for something this size. Fuck.

"Derek, what is that?" He looked back over his shoulder again to see Derek's face contorted in concentration.

"It's okay." Derek stroked his sides and thighs a few times before gripping his hips tight again. "Relax. It's just to reassert the claim. It doesn't have to be a full knot. Just enough to settle the wolf. I've got control."

Did he just say knot? "A full what did you say?"

"Knot. Like we did when I claimed you."

"Dude, we haven't done this ever."

Derek made a surprised noise and slowed his thrusts marginally for the first time. It just meant the thicker part of his dick rubbed across Stiles' prostate and in and out of his ass more slowly. Not helping with the focusing on finding out what this was. The stretch was amazing now, even if it still hurt a little. 

"But your scent," Derek said, "You smell claimed."

"I would remember if we'd done this. Trust me. It hasn't happened." 

"Oh." Derek hmmed. "Well, I already started, so it's too late to stop. But since this is the first time, we have to do it all the way. It's gotta be a solid knot. I'm just gonna..."

Derek pushed in deep and switched to shallow thrusts, and Stiles felt the lump on Derek's dick swelling again. It hurt, but it was so good, so unbelievably good. A wire in his brain was getting crossed right now, and it was probably a good thing, because that much of a stretch without enough prep wouldn't be fun if the wiring was normal. Still, it was bordering on too much. 

"Dude, wait." Stiles sucked in a desperate breath. "Wait. Oh, my god. Ohmygodohmygodohmygod."

He came, keening, as the knot pressed hard and steady on his prostate. Derek stifled a roar against his spine and dragged him back onto his dick hard enough to knock the air out of him. He kept himself flush against Stiles' ass as Stiles shuddered and jerked through his orgasm. And then, when Stiles had come down a little and was only gasping and twitching, he started rolling his hips, slow and deliberate. A long, low moan was falling out Stiles' mouth now, and Derek was sucking a massive hickey onto the back of his neck. And coming a ridiculous amount in his ass. Like so much cum. Stiles could feel it, okay? There was no way Derek had a condom on. They were going to have a talk about that. And if his dick wasn't getting hard again and he wasn't seconds from another orgasm, he'd have something to say about the surprise knotting thing. And there had been something else they should discuss, he was pretty sure, but his memory was all shot to hell. Because orgasms. He was about to have another one. And no one had, at any point this evening, touched his dick. Derek hadn't even taken his clothes all the way off. And that was super hot.


	30. Peter

Peter hated Kate Argent. Avidly, bitterly, and passionately. The fact that she'd somehow survived him tearing out her throat and had shifted to boot was some sort of cosmic revenge for killing Laura, he was sure of it. And now she was back and gunning for Derek again, and they hadn't figured out why. The why was the most important part. If you didn't know her motivation, you couldn't predict her actions. But right now, they really needed to find her first. Because Stiles had called to say Derek was missing from Scott's house, and it hadn't sounded like he'd have been inclined to leave willingly. Which meant Derek's teenage libido had probably seized the moment and gone to town on Stiles' ass shortly before said disappearance. Maybe, he'd finally knot the kid since grown-up Derek was using his emotional issues as an excuse not to. 

When Lydia showed him pictures of the bloodbath Kate had left in the gas station bathroom, he knew what she was after, even if it wasn't going to do her any good, and within minutes, he, Scott, Malia, and Kira were breaking traffic laws left and right to get to the high school. 

There was a berserker outside the vault. A fucking berserker. Between him and his nephew. Probably waiting to kill Derek the second Kate had what she wanted. Peter could fight a lot of things and win, but a berserker wasn't one of them. Even with Scott, Malia, and Kira helping, there wasn't much hope that they'd be able to do anything other than get away alive. Maybe. And there wasn't time to call in the rest of the pack.

"What is that?" Malia asked.

"It's a berserker," he said, catching her and pushing her back when she started to approach it, "Are you insane? That thing'll tear you to pieces in a second."

"There are four of us," Scott said, "We can tag team it."

"We can't," Peter said, "Four means we have a chance at surviving, but only if we run."

"We can't just leave Derek with Kate," Scott said, "We have to try at least. You can take her one-on-one, right?"

"I haven't seen her fight as a were, but probably."

"Okay, so, we'll draw that thing off, and you go get him." 

"Do not engage it in combat, do you hear me? You won't win, true alpha or not. Get its attention and run."

Scott nodded, and Peter watched as he, Malia, and Kira challenged the berserker and then ran off with it in pursuit. He hoped like hell they didn't die and that there weren't more of the things lurking around, but now wasn't the time to dwell. Derek was in there with that bitch, and he didn't know she was one of the bad guys. Peter crept into the vault as quickly as he dared, keeping an eye out for more berserkers. He heard Derek and Kate talking before he saw them.

"-know, sweetie. You told me when you met him. Don't you remember? He's a real cutie, isn't he? So smart and funny. I mean, I was a little jealous, of course, but I'm happy for you."

"Yeah, he's great. He's really great. You know, you could talk to Scott about learning control. Stiles said Allison is in the pack, and she's your niece. I bet he'd help you."

Peter didn't hear her response because he'd finished checking for more berserkers and was putting himself between Derek and Kate, roaring and lunging at her. She dodged back, and he pursued.

"Peter!" Derek grabbed his arm, and he shook him off, slashing and charging Kate again. He connected this time, and she let out a yowl as his claws tore a gash into her side. He ducked her counterstrike, and she twisted away and ran. Peter made it two steps after her before Derek blocked his path, hands out and placating him.

"Peter, wait. Wait. Please."

"Derek, move."

"No, it's okay. I brought her here. She needed the triskelion to help her control her shift so she doesn't hurt anyone."

"Oh, she might want control, but don't think for a second that she's not looking to hurt someone," Peter said, "Probably Stiles now that she knows you're attached to him."

Derek's eyes widened. "She wouldn't."

"She would. You don't remember. She's dangerous. The fire at the house-"

"Oh, my god, Peter, the fire." Derek grabbed his shoulders. "Aunt Alice. Is she okay?"

And all the wind went out of him. Derek was staring at him, fear and hope and desperation in his eyes, asking the most natural question a boy who had no idea what had happened would ask. If Peter's wife was alive. No one had ever asked him about his wife and their unborn child. The older Derek knew the answer. No one else even knew he'd been married.

"No," Peter said, "She didn't make it out."

"But the baby did, right? Your baby did? What's its name? Is it a boy or a girl? Peter, is it a boy or a girl? Tell me its name."

He could only shake his head.

Derek slumped against Peter's chest and started to cry, and all he could do was hug him and hope Scott and the others weren't being butchered up there. He wanted to be able to focus on Derek, to comfort him, like he'd have done the first time around if he could have, but the smell of berserkers was getting stronger. Either it was coming back or there was more than one. Which ever it was, they couldn't stay here. It was a death trap. There was only one way in or out.

"What's that smell?" Derek asked.

"We need to go. Right now."

They ran out, and as soon as they were clear of the vault, Peter heard a sound he really didn't want to be hearing. Fighting. The pack had engaged the berserker. They were either idiots or trapped. Or both. Probably both. Scott roared, calling for help.

"That's Scott," Derek said, "We have to get to him."

The last thing Peter wanted was to get into a fight with a berserker, but they had to do something or Scott would die, and he was currently their only alpha. And they'd need one of those if Kate and her monsters stuck around. So, he ran towards the sound with Derek flanking him and threw himself into the fight. Because if he was going to fight, he wasn't going to hold back. You didn't win by holding back. The two of them actually fared pretty well against the berserkers. He'd forgotten how fast Derek had been before he'd decided to bulk up so much. Maybe, Peter should suggest he lay off the protein shakes and slim down again. Nah, that wasn't going to happen. Stiles liked the big muscles, and Derek was completely whipped. 

He was also back to his normal size and age. Only, he wasn't an alpha. He was a beta. And his eyes flashed gold. What the fuck?

At least, he was alive and remembered that Kate was a raging bitch. That was something. And no one was dead, which was a relief.

Peter drove him back to Scott's house, just the two of them. Derek's request. Probably wanted to talk.

"I really am sorry about Aunt Alice and the baby," Derek said when they were halfway there, "They're dead because of me."

"Kate took advantage of you when you were at your most vulnerable," Peter said, "It's her fault, not yours."

"I'm still sorry."

"Yeah, me too." They were silent for a moment, but Peter could tell there was something else on Derek's mind. He was on the verge of prompting him to talk when Derek broke the silence.

"I knotted Stiles. Younger me did. He thought we were already mates." 

Well, at least some good had come from this clusterfuck of a situation.

"Finally," Peter said, "You'd have done that months ago if you'd been willing to use your brain."

"We only talked about it once, and not in depth."

"Do you really think he'd have said no?"

"No, but I should have asked permission and explained what it meant the rest of the way before I did it."

Peter was not in the mood to deal with Derek's emotional baggage and his enormous sense of guilt. Why couldn't he just accept a good thing when it came his way? Stiles was his mate now. That was a good thing.

"Just talk to him, Derek. Stiles loves you. It'll work out. And then knot him a few more times so it really takes."

Derek let out a deep rumble of approval at the thought of that and then glared at Peter.

"It was little you that did it last time," Peter said, shifting the car into park, "Don't you think he wants it from the real deal?"

"Shut up, Peter." Derek wasn't noticing they were stopped. His brain would still be flooded with mating hormones, and talking about Stiles and knotting was monopolizing his attention. This was going to be fun.

"I'll bet you still have an Alpha-sized knot," Peter said, letting his eyes flare blue to call Derek's wolf to the front of his mind, "You want to hear him screaming on it? Want to watch him coming from just your knot in his ass? I'll bet he would. He's sensitive, isn't he? Responsive? Did he do it already? Do you want to hear him panting and gasping and begging for it? Want to see him stretched around it, see how open it leaves him when you pull out, watch your cum dripping--"

The car door slammed. Derek had finally realized they were at Scott's house and he didn't have to sit here and listen to this when he could be inside experiencing it for real. Peter laughed. He could hear Stiles' excited chatter dissolving into moans and whimpers and the sound of Derek staking his claim again. Stiles wasn't going to walk right for days after this. Never let it be said that Peter didn't do him favors. It shouldn't be so easy to rile Derek up. It was kind of a dick move, but he didn't feel bad because it was hilarious. Besides, this had been a long fucking time coming, puns intended, and if Peter had to be the one to push him into action, then he was going to do it. The fact that Scott's bedroom was going to smell like Stiles and Derek and sex was just a bonus.


	31. Stiles

So, knotting was a thing. Stiles had not seen that coming. And it wasn't just the once, either. Derek had come back from wherever Kate had dragged him, some hidden vault at the High School because apparently things like that existed, scooped Stiles off his feet and back onto the bed, and fucked him and fucked him and fucked him until he couldn't have moved if he'd wanted to. God, it was amazing. He knotted him twice more that night, and after the sex, transferred Stiles to the chair, made him cozy with pillows and his jacket, stripped the bedding, and threw it in the washer. If Stiles had the energy to do more than barely stay awake, he'd probably ask if Derek wanted to go another round. Responsible Derek who washed Scott's sheets and pillowcases and blankets so that they wouldn't smell so strongly of sweat and cum was a huge turn-on, okay? But Stiles did not have the energy, and his dick and ass could not take one more ounce of sex-related anything. He considered offering Derek a blowjob because his jaw wasn't as sore as the rest of him, but there was a very real possibility that he'd fall asleep partway through, and then there'd be risks like choking and vomiting, and that wasn't sexy.

He settled for just keeping his eyes open, and Derek sat with him while the laundry was running and told him all about mating and claims and what it meant in the practical sense. Which was basically that they'd be more emotionally connected and codependent. Stiles would be more sensitive to the pack like Derek was, and Derek would get a slight power boost but for the most part, he'd just be more stable, mentally and emotionally. And despite what Stiles had read online, it wasn't a predestination thing like soulmates. It was two people meeting one another, deciding they liked each other, and working to make their relationship closer and more successful. Also, they could still break up like normal humans. It'd be tough, but no one would waste away and die, and it wasn't a once you're in there's no way out thing. It was just a regular committed relationship with a magical edge to it. Which was good to know, and also a relief, because the idea of having some sort of eternal life-force bond to someone sprung on him with no caveat and no chance to opt out was not a pleasant thought. Even if he loved Derek and was fully on board with staying together for the long haul.

When the laundry was done and the bed remade, Stiles finally checked his phone. It had gone off a few times during what he was going to call The Epic Reunion Mating Fest With The Real McCoy, but he'd ignored it since he'd been busy having his brains fucked out. He had a voicemail from Scott, one from Dad, and five texts from Dad telling him to get his butt home. Dad's voice message said that they were going to have a talk about him and Derek no matter how late Stiles got home. Not great. When Dad said they were going to talk, it meant they were going to have a conversation about something. When he said they were going to have a talk about something specific, it meant Dad was going to talk and Stiles was going to listen and at the end of it say yes sir. The last text said to bring Derek with him. 

There was really only one explanation. Agent McCall hadn't tattled to Melissa, who would have rolled her eyes, promised to handle it, and then done nothing, because Stiles had let Scott have sex with Alli in his bed on a number of occasions while they were pretending not to date and turnabout was fair play. No, Agent McCall had fled the house, gone straight to the Sheriff's station, and told Dad that Stiles and his boyfriend were having sex in Scott's bed and hadn't bothered to stop when they were caught en flagrente delecto. And Dad had of course, asked for a description of said boyfriend. Said boyfriend who'd been sitting in the Sheriff's station with Stiles little more than an hour earlier and couldn't possibly be anyone other than Derek Hale. Who was twenty-three. 

On the way home, Stiles gave Derek a rundown of Serious Talk With Sheriff Stilinski Slash Stiles' Protective Father protocol. Don't touch Stiles or generally stand too close to him. Don't speak unless spoken to directly. Don't volunteer information. Avoid direct lies because Dad could tell and that would piss him off. Don't admit to the sex. And especially, do not, under any circumstances, tell Dad that it had been Derek's idea for them to hook up in the first place and not Stiles'. Because Dad somehow thought Stiles had the balls to pitch that idea to someone as out of his league as Derek and then convince him to do it even though it was against the law, not to mention the league thing, and as long as he continued thinking that, there was a good chance he'd be lenient just this once. Because that made Derek less a predator and more another person who couldn't resist Stiles' charm and silver tongue. And the fact that he couldn't resist because he thought the sun shone out Stiles' ass could only work in their favor.

The fact that Stiles couldn't currently walk unsupported would not work in their favor because Dad was going to know exactly what they'd been doing to render him unable. Nor would the fact that Derek was back to being big Derek. This would be so much easier with little Derek. Well, maybe not. The kid did not know when to keep his mouth shut and let Stiles handle the tough situations, as evidenced by the disastrous conversation with Agent McCall. But he'd at least have been seventeen, even if it was a magical seventeen.

It took all of Stiles' avoidance techniques, charisma, and fast talking and all of the energy that remained in his sexed-up body to talk Dad off his ledge and convince him that Stiles had seen an opportunity to bang his overage boyfriend legally and had talked little Derek into it, and he and big Derek would totally wait to have sex again until Stiles was eighteen. Which was a lie, but Stiles could swing that, okay? He had the experience and the practice to lie to his dad and make it work. Derek didn't. Dad said he was letting it slide this once since Derek had sort of been seventeen at the time, but if he or anyone else caught them at it again now that he was back to his proper age, arrests would be made and names would go on the sex offenders registery. All in all, it was as good as that confrontation could possibly have gone, even if Derek said later that he didn't like how Stiles kept taking all the blame for everything when it was largely Derek's doing. Stiles preferred to think of it as taking all the credit, not taking all the blame.

Of course, they didn't stop having sex, because they were freshly mated, and that apparently meant that Derek's libido was in overdrive. He somehow found time and opportunity to knot Stiles at least once a day for the next week, despite Dad checking in on him all the time with the aim of making sure no such activities were taking place and Kate still being on the loose. Now, the knotting was every few days. Cementing the claim, Derek said, but Stiles was pretty sure he just liked the part where Stiles was stuck with his knot pressed against his prostate and couldn't help but come over and over. Derek had a history of liking that sort of thing. And it was totally awesome in terms of feeling good all the time, but not so much in terms of Stiles standing and walking, which he had to do or Dad would get suspicious. Or rather more suspicious.

But werewolf mating hormones were a powerful thing, and Stiles was having as much sex as he had been before Derek had been kidnapped, if not more. Only, Derek was being careful not to leave marks anywhere that wouldn't be covered by an undershirt and boxers. No hickeys on his neck, no handprints on his hips where his shirt might ride up. But there was lots and lots of sex whenever they had time and privacy, and there was knotting. And call Stiles crazy, but he was like seventy percent sure that grown-up Derek had a bigger knot than teenage Derek. Proper amounts of prep and stretching were happening now though. So, he could handle the extra girth. Mostly. He was glad Derek was kind of doing it less and less without prompting or he would've had to have a talk with him and ask if it could be something they saved for special occasions and near-death experiences when they got super extra horny.

Apart from hiding his sex life from his dad, which wasn't new but now they were taking extra precautions, and trying to figure out what the hell Kate Argent was after other than a fake relic of werewolven shift control, he had other problems. Two of them. The first came in the form of Liam, Scott's new beta. Who had anger management problems. The guy hadn't been able to control his explosive rage when he was a human, and Scotty had turned him onto a werewolf. To be fair, he hadn't done it on purpose. Liam had been falling off a four-story building, because berserkers weren't particular about how they killed you as long as you were dead in the end, and Scott's only available appendage for grabbing him had been his mouth. And teeth. 

And now Liam. Adorable, angry little Liam who gawked at Malia and Kira, played Lacrosse like it was the single most important thing in the world, and was reacting very much like Scott had when he'd first turned. With copious amounts of denial and hissy fits and dogged insistence on playing Lacrosse despite the high probability of his losing his shit and killing somebody. And Liam's best friend, Mason, was a bright kid, but he was no Stiles. He just didn't have the life experience required to meet the challenge of bringing his buddy to heel like Stiles had. Derek was helping, of course, and so were the rest of the pack, but so far, it was a barely mitigated disaster that involved one panicked kidnapping, two terrible recruitment speech attempts, and Stiles being fielded during Lacrosse practice because Liam had given one of the players a concussion and several broken ribs. And Stiles had been stuck on goal because Danny had moved and they had no one in that position yet. And he was half-ways decent at it, okay? He just didn't want to end up in the goal permanently because he liked his job as bench warmer slash cheerleader. He'd worked hard for that spot.

Problem number two was Dr. Deaton. Deaton had never made any pretense that he was there for anyone other than Scott, his True Alpha pet-project, and up to now, Stiles hadn't cared that much. Okay, it pissed him off that Deaton didn't give two shits about so many other people, but whatever. The guy was welcome to decide whose side he was on and stick to his guns. But now Derek's alpha powers had inexplicibly vanished, and while the pack still looked to him as their leader, Deaton saw an opportunity to push Scott into the alpha position. He had the red eyes and the powers that came with them, and yeah, Scotty was a hell of a natural leader, but that didn't mean that Derek's pack should just up and switch their loyalties. Only, Deaton seemed to think they should, and he was getting less and less subtle about trying to persuade them to see things his way.

It was so bad that Isaac quit his job at the animal clinic and got one at the public library because it was the only place in town that was hiring and Stiles may have talked him up to Mrs. Addy, the librarian, who adored Stiles. Isaac hated libraries. Too quiet and you weren't supposed to squirrel around in them. And he loved little animals. Especially sick ones that he could help feel better. But Deaton wouldn't fucking shut up about how great Scott was and how dismal a leader Derek had always been and how following the right person was important. So, Isaac quit and made up some excuse for Scott about how it would be a good idea for one of the pack to work at the library because sometimes they needed books from the back rooms and then they wouldn't have to break and enter anymore.

Stiles wasn't sure how he was going to handle Deaton yet. He could tell Peter what the guy was up to and let Peter deal with it. But that would probably result in at least one corpse they had to dispose of or explain away and then they'd be down a person who knew shit about shit, either Deaton or Peter, depending on which of the two won. He could tell Scott what was going on, but then Scott would probably quit his job at the clinic too, and that would suck because again, Deaton knew things, and also, Scott had decided he wanted to be a vet when he grew up, and having a job at an animal clinic and a recommendation from Dr. Deaton would help with his application to medical school. And he needed the help because his grades were all over the place. Other than that, Stiles had pretty much one option. To confront the guy himself, and Stiles wasn't exactly the picture of intimidating. Also, he had no idea what he'd say other than that he knew what was going on and wasn't going to let it happen. Which, without an actual game plan for preventing it other than to keep the betas away from him, wasn't really much of a threat.

The betas weren't the problem, though. Erica, Isaac, and Boyd would stick with Derek until the absolute end. Peter was a Hale and like hell was he going to turn the Hale Pack over to a non-Hale alpha. Malia didn't really care who was the boss. Liam wasn't jazzed up about Scott or Derek or any of the pack except for the pretty girls. Allison and Lydia weren't stupid enough to fall for Deaton's bullshit, and Stiles was pretty sure they were there for the pack more so than its leader anyway. Kira was there because she was head over heels for Scott and was becoming friends with the rest of them, but she wasn't fully pack yet, so her loyalty to Derek was a non-issue. The problem was Derek. 

Derek, whose martyr complex chose the absolute worst moments to rear its ugly head, also seemed to think that because he wasn't the big, shiny alpha anymore, the pack would and should instantly jump into the USS Scotty and sail out of Hale Harbor with three sheets to the wind. He kept trying to pass off decisions to Scott. Scotty, bless his heart, would just offer any advice he could think of without committing either way and hot potato the decisions right back. Because even if he didn't see through Deaton, he saw through Derek, and he wasn't about to usurp the pack. Scott didn't care about power or being the one in charge. He cared about keeping people safe and happy, and he knew that was what Derek wanted too. And Derek was Alpha Hale whether Deaton or Derek himself thought he ought to be. Stiles had not put this much work into making the guy pull his head out of his ass and figure out how to run a pack just to let him give up at the first sign of opposition. Or the fifteen-hundredth or whatever fucking sign this was. That just... no. Just no. Derek was the Alpha whether he had wolfy powers or not.

They were still fading, though, and Stiles was worried that whatever was happening to Derek wouldn't stop there. He was fine with human Derek. He was not fine with dead Derek. And none of them knew exactly what Kate had done to him. They'd scoured the internet and every book they could find on spells that seemed even remotely credible, but they hadn't found any references to magic that reversed aging, and they'd found so many about stealing powers that it was frankly alarming. They'd looked in Peter's beastiary and in the Argents' files. And the other day, Stiles had been in an antique book store in Eddington asking of they had a copy of a book in ancient latin, because the one he'd found was in classic latin, and his classic latin wasn't so good. The guy working the desk had looked at him like he'd grown a second head right there in front of him. Which, to be fair, Stiles had just told him that he read ancient latin but not classic, and that was hella weird. It wasn't that Stiles was fluent with any sort of latin, but once you'd stared at it for so long and hunted for certain words and phrases, you started to recognize other things too. But so far, nothing they'd turned up could tell them what the hell was going on or how to fix it.

So, Stiles talked Derek into letting Allison teach him how to use a gun and fight like a human. Which, one, was just good sense, and two, meant that Stiles got to see Derek shoot a pistol, a shotgun, and an assault rifle. He'd just about come in his pants right then and there. Alli had banned him from watching any more of their training sessions on the grounds that he was a distraction, and she'd threatened to make him learn too if he showed up. Derek had given him the side-eye when Stiles high-tailed it out of there like a freaking berserker was on his heels. He'd asked later why Stiles wouldn't do any weapons training, and Stiles had done his best to explain without telling him about siccing Peter on people when he wanted them dead. Twice was a coincidence. Not a pattern or a habit. Nothing to worry about. Yet. Derek hadn't argued, but he had suggested that maybe Stiles take up another useful skill, like first aid.

And now, Stiles was seeing Melissa for lessons three times a week after her shift at the hospital and cooking dinner for her and Scott, and sometimes Dad, on those days as payment. She was never one to pass up on shoving the cooking off on someone else after she'd just finished ten and twelve hour shifts. But he was pretty sure she'd do it for free just to have someone in the pack with some basic medical training considering how often they got sliced open. One of these days, it was going to be another human that got the shank, not a werewolf, and they'd need to patch them up instead of just trigger the healing process. Roscoe and the rest of the pack cars were kitted out with oversized first-aid kits, which, retrospectively, they really should have had all along. Stiles stuck a jar of Mountain Ash and a small butane torch for burning out wolfsbane in each box as well. Never hurt to be prepared.


	32. Stiles

The next person Kate kidnapped was Scott. Stiles hadn't seen that coming either. She had no reason to take him, no personal connection except maybe that he'd once dated Alli, but she'd taken him anyway. Maybe, because he was an alpha. Did werejaguars become alphas if they killed alpha werewolves, or did that only apply to werewolves? She might have something else in mind, though, because kidnapping him and dragging him off was a lot more work than just killing him. Even kidnapping him so she coud kill him in front of the pack because she was a fucking sadist would make more sense than grabbing him and leaving town. She had a plan, but Stiles didn't have enough clues to figure it out, and that was not going to help him save Scott. Whatever the reason she took him, they had to get to him fast. Like as fast as humanly and wolfly possible or maybe sooner. Lydia and her banshee powers said that he was alive, which was something at least, and they and the Calaveras, who Chris Argent was keeping out of Beacon Hills by going to hunt his sister with them personally, tracked her back to the church where she'd taken Derek. And the pack ended up loading into a few armored vans the Argents used for transporting weapons and personnel and driving down to Mexico to help the hunters trap, and hopefully end, Kate, per their agreement with Araya Calavera.

Somehow, Deputy Parrish ended up coming along. He said it was something to do with Lydia, but neither of them could explain it to Stiles. He was pretty sure it also had a lot to do with Dad not wanting Stiles haring off to god knew where to fight psychopaths and their magical murderous man-bear-pigs without sending some sort of person to look after him. As a proxy, because Dad had torn a ligament in his knee during a scrape with the berserkers. He'd won the scrape by blowing one up with a claymore, which was super badass, but he'd still been injured, and he couldn't come to Mexico himself. So, Deputy Parrish. Parrish was driving the van with Stiles, Derek, and Liam in the back and doing his level best to keep it on the road while Liam freaked out and tried not to wolf out and attack everything in sight. 

It was the day of the full moon, because all the hellaciousness always happened on a full moon or some weird iteration of one, and Scott had once said something about the moons in Mexico having a weird affect on him. Maybe, it was carrying over to his beta, because Liam was losing his shit. Derek tried his triskelion trick since Liam didn't know it was a sham, but that didn't work, and they had to improvise until they came up with another mantra to help him focus. Stiles was relieved when he calmed down until Liam decided that it was an appropriate time to ask a thousand intrusive questions about his and Derek's sex life. Which he could smell and was making him wonder about things like what to expect should he ever get a sex life of his own. Derek just answered while Stiles did an impression of a tomato and told Parrish that this was all stuff they knew from before his dad's official sex ban.

"Your dad knows you two are still having sex," Parrish said calmly, "He's just trying to keep you from doing anything that would confirm it for a court case and force him to arrest your boyfriend."

"Oh, god," Stiles muttered, "I'm going to owe him like a deep-fried steak breaded in curly fries and bacon when I turn eighteen. Is that a thing? I feel like its probably a thing and I'm going to get the recipe for it as my birthday present."

"If you feel so bad about lying to him, you could always try being honest," Parrish said reasonably, "or stop having sex against his wishes."

Stiles fixed the back of his head with the most withering and disdainful look in his arsenal. He wasn't going to dignify that with a response.

"Do I have a knot too?" Liam asked. What the what? Stiles had told Scott and Alli about the knotting thing in confidence. Actually, he'd asked if it had ever happened when they were banging, and they'd both looked at him like he was insane and then demanded explanations. Which he had given. Scott had gotten a more graphic description because he'd gone way overboard with sharing personal, sex-related information when he and Alli had been together. He'd chilled out since then, thankfully, and Stiles didn't have to be regaled with equally traumatizing stories about Kira, but he still had mental scars, okay? And showering with Alli on occasion did not mean he wanted to know details about what it felt like to be inside her. So, Stiles had seized the chance for a little payback and thoroughly grossed Scott out. 

And apparently, Scott had felt the need to share the fact that knots existed with Liam. Probably, he was just trying to be a good alpha and cover all the bases. Fangs, fur, claws, glowing eyes, occasional urge to maim and kill, uber sensitive nose and ears, knots on your dick for mating purposes. Even if Scott had never had it happen to him, he now knew it was possible. He wasn't going to let Liam be blindsided. And Liam had most likely asked for more information, which Scott didn't really have. And Scott had probably told him to ask Derek. Which he was now doing.

"Not for a while," Derek said, "bitten wolves take a while to develop one, or the female equivalent. I was born a wolf, so my wolf has been developing my entire life. You just got bit. It'll be years before you have one. Even Scott won't for a long time."

"Am I going to be able to choose, or is it just going to happen one day?"

"It's a lot like boners. At first, you pop them randomly and you can't do shit about it. Then you get a little older and figure out how to know when they're going to happen and how to calm yourself back down. Although, you'll end up fully in control of your knot, and I've never met anyone who's fully in control of their erections."

"So, like, you decided you wanted to knot Stiles."

"Yes. The younger version of me felt like his claim on Stiles had been challenged. By Scott, and by Stiles himself when he lied to him. And after they'd talked about what was upsetting him and Stiles submitted, he wanted to reaffirm the claim, which would reassure him of the connection and Stiles of the fact that he wasn't mad at him anymore. Knotting is extremely intimate. A werewolf has to love and trust someone a lot before they even have the slightest urge to knot them. Younger me wanted to remind Stiles that he felt those things for him."

That was sweet. Stiles leaned over to give Derek a quick kiss on the lips. He'd figured little Derek had knotted him more as a show of dominance than anything else, and maybe to distract himself from thinking about the fire and his dead family. But Derek wasn't lying right now. Stiles could always tell when he lied, and he wasn't. Although, he had been hanging around Stiles for a while. He could be picking up some new skills.

"Oh, god," Liam groaned, "You're going to get all mushy, aren't you? I swear, you two are worse than Scott and Kira."

"You should have been around for Scott and Allison," Stiles said, "That's the real measuring stick for ooey-gooey lovesick dopey-ness."

"He's not kidding," Derek said, "It was nauseating."

"Do you think he's going to be okay?" Liam asked.

"I don't know," Stiles said, "I have no idea what Kate wants with him, so I can't predict what she'll do or when."

"If he dies, will I be an omega?"

"No," Derek said, "Scott is part of the Hale Pack. You're Scott's beta. That makes you pack too."

"Can you have a pack without an alpha?" Liam asked.

"Derek is our alpha," Stiles said before Derek could answer, "Werewolf or not. And yes, you can. Pack is about sticking together and looking out for one another. It's about family. No one needs red eyes to do that."

"I bet they help," Liam muttered.


	33. Stiles

A berserker grabbed Derek the second he opened the door, and Stiles couldn't see what was happening but he could hear sounds. The bad kinds of sounds that made him want the throw up. But he couldn't get out to help because Liam's protective instincts had for once kicked in and he'd shoved Stiles behind him further into the van and was keeping him there while he crouched, wolfed out and ready to fight, in front of the door, and Stiles would be so proud of him if he didn't need to get out there and do something. Stiles heard the rest of the pack getting into the fight and gunfire from the hunters, and Liam finally got the hell out of his way.

He jumped out of the van and stumbled to a stop. There was so much blood, and Derek was holding it together, but Stiles wasn't fooled. That was not going to be okay. That was really not going to be okay. Erica had her hands on Derek's chest, applying pressure, but she was already wrist deep in blood, and it wasn't stopping. He needed... he needed the first aid kit. But this wasn't a pack car, and there wasn't one. He should have brought one. Why didn't they bring one? They were heading for a fight and they knew it.

"I'm okay," Derek lied, "I'm okay. I'll be okay. Go get Scott. Peter, find Scott."

Stiles had never seen so many different expressions cross Peter's face, but the one it settled on was resolute. 

"Boyd, Isaac," Peter said, "Go. Malia, Liam, Kira, follow them in. Lydia get a gun and stick with Parrish. Allison, help the hunters keep the berserkers that are out here from getting inside. Come on, Erica."

He grabbed her under the arm and hauled her to her feet.

"It's okay," Derek rasped, "Go, Erica. Listen to Peter."

Peter towed her away, and Stiles was still frozen on the spot, staring at Derek and not sure if he should go to him because he was dying or go to Scott, who might actually survive the night.

"Stiles," Derek said, "Go save Scott. Save him. I'll be okay until you get back. Allison will protect me."

And his legs obeyed, even though his mind still wasn't sure what to do. Once he was inside, he made himself focus. No thinking about Derek. Scott was the priority right now. Save Scott. Find him and save him from Kate. 

Only, Scott wasn't Scott anymore. He was a berserker. With a skull on his head and bone armor and hide clothing. And the smell. And he was attacking the pack. Which fucking sucked because they were trying not to kill him, even Peter, and you didn't win a fight against someone who was trying to kill you by trying not to kill them. It didn't help that Kate was there with a second berserker and they had to divide their time between fighting her and it and trying to get Scott to snap out of it. Stiles wasn't sure how you snapped someone out of that kind of magical hoodoo, but it didn't seem like talking would work. Peter seemed to think appealing to Scott's nature was their best bet, but Scott wasn't listening. Not with Kate there yammering about revenge and how much she was going to enjoy watching them fight themselves into exhaustion and then die at the hands of their friend and alpha.

Stiles really wanted claws and fangs right now, or even a gun. Anything that would let him tear her limb from limb, but the best he could do was shout at Scott and avoid being killed while the others did the fighting. Stiles didn't fight. Stiles did first aid and made plans. And he didn't even have his first aid kit. But he did have Mountain Ash. Mountain Ash wouldn't hold a berserker forever. But it could slow it down and free up the pack to focus on Scott. And it could hold Kate. Concentric rings would probably be a stronger barrier than just one. Stiles had enough ash for that. Stiles had enough ash for anything.

He pulled a jar from his pocket and unscrewed it. Okay, this was going to be tricky. He'd never done concentric rings, and he'd never done three rings at once, but that was fine. He just needed to believe. Believe it and it would be real. But first, he needed Scott in one place and Kate and her other berserker in another. He'd settle for all three of them apart, though. Mostly, he needed Scott on his own.

"Malia," he called. She was closest. She ducked into cover next to him. There was blood in her hair from hitting her head on the wall, but her eyes were clear.

"Separate Scott from the other two," Stiles said, "I need as much clearance as you can give me."

"You have a plan?" she asked.

"I have a stop-gap measure."

"I'll take it," she said, "Make a real plan fast."

And then she was lunging back out and rounding up Boyd and Liam and the three of them were charging Scott. Viciously. He'd said he needed room, and they weren't going to make any by playing defense. Either Peter had heard them talking or he was just good at picking up on cues, because at the same time, he called Erica, Isaac, and Kira to help him against Kate and her other berserker. They were forcing them to maintain their position, which was blocking the only exit, but still. This was as good as it was going to get. Stiles waited until Peter and his betas fell back to regroup to make his move.

"Malia," he shouted, "Back off."

And then he flicked his wrist and sent the Mountain Ash flying. It settled in two concentric rings around Kate and her berserker, and a third ring around Scott some forty feet away. Stiles legs almost gave out from relief. They had a few minutes to get it together and make a game plan. He hoped someone other than him had one, because after his brain gave him the idea of the ash rings, it had gone incommunicado.

"Shit," Peter said. He was staring at Stiles, but Stiles wasn't sure if the shit was about him or the situation.

"Well, well, Stiles," Kate cooed, "I didn't think you had it in you. I mean, I knew you had other things in you, big, hard, sexy things, but not something like this."

Stiles ignored her. She was just going to try and distract them long enough for her berserker to break her out. To keep them from helping Scott. He walked over to where berserker-Scott was pressing against the ring around him.

"Scott?" he said, "Can you hear me, buddy? I think you're in there, so listen to me. Listen to your Stiles. I never steer you wrong. You don't want to do this, man. This isn't you. Everyone here, we're your friends. Your pack. We came to get you, to help you. Please don't kill us, Scotty. Please. We love you. You love us. Kate's the one who wants to hurt people. She's trying to make you into something you aren't, but you can fight her. You can stop her. Don't let her do this. Fight her. She's not stronger than you. I believe in you, Scotty. You're my best friend. We're brothers. And brothers, they help each other. They carry each others' load when it gets heavy. Brothers get to do that for each other. So, I'm gonna step inside this ring with you, and I'm gonna help you fight her. I'm gonna pull that ugly mask off your face because it's holding you down and hurting you. I know you can take it off by yourself. I believe that. But I'm your brother, so I get to help, okay? Just let me help you. Trust me." 

Someone behind Stiles was saying his name, and someone else was saying something in a sharp tone, like an order, but he wasn't listening. 

He stepped over the ash ring. His hands were shaking, and one thought was running through his head. Get the mask off. Get the mask off. Get the mask off before he kills you. Berserker-Scott snarled and grabbed Stiles' shirt, lifting him so he was barely on his toes and pulling back an arm to swing. To slice him open. To stab him. Get the mask off before he kills you. Stiles brace a knee on Scott's chest, grabbed the skull mask, and pulled. Scott faltered, but the mask didn't move. Kate was laughing behind him, high and manic. Scott lifted his arm again to swing. Stiles pulled harder. It still wouldn't move. He was going to die.

"Help me, Scott," he pleaded, "I can't do it on my own. I'm not strong enough. Please, help me. I need you."

Scott snarled again, deeper and louder, and he threw Stiles away from him. Out of the ring. He'd have hit the wall if Peter hadn't caught him. He was already taking a step back towards the ring when Scott grabbed the skull and tore it in half, eyes burning bright Alpha red, and then he roared. It was deafening. And Stiles was glad Peter was still holding him up, because his legs really did give out this time. 

That was Scott right there. That was his Scott. And he was true alpha-ing his way through Stiles' Mountain Ash ring in seconds and charging at Kate, who was running away, her other berserker following her. The rest of the pack roared and followed Scott, Peter literally slinging Stiles up onto his shoulders like a backpack as he went. Stiles hoped Alli wasn't still blocking the entrance. He had a vague memory of Derek telling her to do that. Something about reducing avenues of attack and not letting the pack get trapped inside. He hoped Alli heard the roars and figured out they were coming back and she'd better get out of the way. He didn't think Kate would hesitate to kill her.

Peter dropped Stiles as soon as they were out of the tunnels so he could jump into the fight, and Stiles saw that Alli, Lydia, and Parrish were clustered together, emptying round after round into the berserker trying to kill them. All alive, then. Couldn't say the same for some of the hunters. The pack went after a berserker, Scott leading, and in seconds, they had torn it to pieces and were moving on to the next one. Kate was trying to escape the hunters and at the same time, kill as many of them as possible. Her sadism at war with her sense of self-preservation. Stiles... Stiles wasn't any help here. The best he could do was maybe see if any of the injured people weren't on the brink of death and if maybe he could patch them up. Maybe, Derek wasn't dead yet. He looked over where he'd been lying, but the spot was empty. Lots of blood, but no body. Did they move him to a van? Where was he?

Stiles looked in the nearest two vans, but they were empty too. No people. No Derek. Where was he? But then he heard someone moaning in pain outside and decided that he could figure it out once the fighting was over. Derek was most likely dead, but the guy bleeding on the ground right there wasn't yet. And Stiles might be able to keep him alive. So, he hopped out of the van and went to see how bad it was and if there was anything he could do.

It was Chris Argent. And Stiles was fucking glad he hadn't ignored him. Argent had some pretty severe gashes in his stomach and chest, and one on his leg. And Stiles could see bone in one of the chest wounds. Ribs. It was a glancing blow, not a stab, thank fuck, but it was still bad and bleeding a lot. The wound in his stomach was a stab wound, though, and it had probably hit something important, even if it wasn't the artery. Stiles wasn't sure what to address first.

"Leg," Argent grunted, "Tie up my leg and then worry about the rest of me. Everything else is pretty much in one spot."

Stiles pulled off his hoodie, grabbed a knife off Argent's belt, and cut off the sleeves. He wadded one up and then tied it over the cut on Argent's leg. The rest, he folded into a pad and pressed onto the man's midsection. He could get one hand on the stab in his belly and the other on the lowest of the chest wounds. It'd have to do for now.

"You need a hospital," he said, even though it was stupid and obvious.

"Once this is taken care of," Argent said.

Stiles nodded because he couldn't think of anything to say.

"My gun has yellow wolfsbane bullets," Argent said, "Regular wolfsbane will hurt her but not kill her. It has to be the yellow."

"Okay."

"Stiles," Argent said, "Take the gun."

"I need to keep pressure on this." Just minutes ago, Stiles would have done anything to have the power to kill Kate, but the thought of picking up that gun and shooting someone was... he couldn't do it. She deserved to die. She should die, but Stiles couldn't do it. All he could think about was facing his dad when he came home knowing that he'd shot and killed someone. 

"Get Peter to do it if you can't," Argent said, "but get it done. I'd do it, but my aim is too shaky right now."

Peter. Peter would do it. Stiles could have Peter do it. He'd done that before. Peter took care of things when Stiles was too weak.

He picked up Argent's revolver and set the man's hands on top of his hoodie pad.

"Keep as much pressure as you can," he mumbled, "Don't die, okay? Alli needs you."

"Go," Argent said. And Stiles went.

He stepped over bodies and walked towards where the pack was fighting another of the berserkers. Well, not so much fighting it as butchering it. Then he heard a roar. He knew that roar. That was Derek's roar. Wait. Derek? Stiles looked over in time to see a massive black wolf slam into Kate, taking her to the ground and tearing into her while she screamed. Then it backed off, and it was gone, and in its place was Derek. Tall, strong, and alive. A berserker leapt at him, and he grabbed its skull and the thing disintegrated. The whole berserker just turned to dust. Except for the skull, which Derek tossed aside like what he'd done wasn't so completely badass. His eyes were a burning red so intense it made the rest of his face gleam. 

Stiles was moving in his direction before he could think. He wanted to touch him. To feel him breathing. To hear his heart in his chest. 

And then he felt the gun in his hand, cold and heavy. He stopped.

"Peter," he whispered. And Peter was next to him, like magic.

Stiles held out the pistol. "For Kate. Yellow wolfsbane."

Peter took it without a word and stalked towards them, and Stiles trailed along behind him. Three times was a pattern. Peter didn't even wait for Derek and Kate to finish talking. He just stepped in front of Derek and fired all six bullets into her, one after another. Three in the head and three in the chest. Then he threw the gun on the ground and walked away, and Derek just stared at Kate's body. Stiles touched his hand, and Derek startled. He turned to stare at Stiles, and then he took his face in his hands and pulled him into a hug. And he was warm and solid and alive. He was alive. Stiles didn't even pretend he wasn't clinging desperately.

"You were dead," he said, and his voice was doing that shaky thing it did when he was on the verge of really crying.

"Death cannot stop true love."

"Don't quote princess bride to me right now," Stiles said, "You were dead. You can quote princess bride to me later when my heart isn't trying to figure out if its still being run through the paper shredder or not."

"It's okay now," Derek said, "I'm not going anywhere, and neither is Scott." 

Stiles was trying hard not to cry because this was going to be a big one where once he started, he wasn't going to stop for a long time, but there was wetness on his face saying he wasn't succeeding. He needed to think of something else. Something other than Derek dying and Scotty trying to kill them all.

"Alli's dad is gonna die if he doesn't get to the hospital really soon," was all he could think to say.

"Parrish and Isaac are putting him in one of the vans."

"Is Alli with them?"

"She's talking to Araya."

"By herself?" Stiles was suddenly much more alert.

"Not for long." Derek took Stiles' hand and walked over to where Allison was glaring at her grandmother and trying to hide how her hands were shaking. Derek stood at her shoulder, slightly behind her. Just to remind her that he had her back. She straightened a little, bolstered.


	34. Stiles

"Your father is going to be hospitalized for weeks," Araya was saying, "Just a few extra men around to keep things under control until he's on his feet again."

"No," Allison said, "Beacon Hills is Argent territory, and I'm the head of the Argents even when my dad is healthy. I don't want your 'help', and I don't need it."

"Considering the last year, I think you do."

"I don't think you want to start throwing stones," Allison said, "That's an awfully big glass castle you're perched on. Stay the hell away from Beacon Hills and the Hale Pack. No more bodysnatching, no more torture. It's sick and despicable and disgusting. You will not come into my territory except at my request or with my permission should some problem of yours migrate that far north again. If either of those should be the case, I will tell you exactly how many hunters you can bring, they'll conduct themselves according to my standards of behavior, and you'll keep me appraised of their whereabouts, activities, and objectives at all times. If I ever so much as suspect, for one second, that you aren't being completely candid and honest with me, I will drive you and your hunters out with extreme prejudice. And if you manufacture trouble just to get into my territory, you won't even see me coming."

"You seem to be forgetting that the things we hunt are dangerous animals and monsters."

"You seem to be forgetting that they're people."

"Does that look human to you?" Araya nodded at Derek, whose red hots were still flashing. Also, he was stark naked. Stiles was just now realizing this. Derek was naked, and he'd been missing it.

"I said they're people, not that they're human, and he looks like my Alpha."

"Your Alpha," Araya said slowly.

Allison twirled a ring dagger she'd produced from thin air between her fingers. "My Alpha."

"You cannot be a hunter and sleep with the wolves," Araya said.

"Yes, I can," Alli said.

"Yes, she can," Derek said. Alli grinned up at him, and he smiled back, one of his soft, affectionate smiles.

"Alli," Isaac called, "Your dad's in the van and as stable as we can make him. Let's go."

"Bye, Grandma," Alli said, "Stay away from my pack and my land. Seriously. I'll see you two later. Derek... put on some pants." 

And then she raced off to hop in the van.

"I can't believe I hugged you and then stood next to you for like an entire conversation without noticing that you were naked," Stiles said, "Seriously, this whole death thing is really throwing me for a loop. Your red hots are still on, by the way."

"They probably will be for a while."

"He's a little young for you, Lobito," Araya said, "What would his father do if he found out?"

"Are you threatening us already?" Stiles asked, "How are all of Alli's relatives such massive pricks? Well, her dad's not so bad anymore, but seriously, I thought I was dealt a shit hand with my extended family. Someone is stacking the deck against her. Look, lady, I get that you're all mad about her saying no to you commandeering her life and murdering her friends because you don't want them to be her friends, but back off. Her mom already tried that shiz, and it didn't turn out so hot for her. Alli gets to make her own decisions because she's a fucking adult, and you get to suck it up and deal because it's not your life. Also, we did what we said we'd do. One Kate Argent, signed, sealed, and delivered, and this time, you won't even get the chance to do something as stupid as give her a weapon and tell her to kill herself to preserve her honor. So, accept the gift basket we've delivered to your door, dispose of the corpse in some way that ensures she won't resurrect herself via recently-made banshee or come back as a were-she-demon, and then leave us all the fuck alone. You have a code, and it says that you don't harass people if they don't go around hurting anyone, and we don't go around hurting anyone. So, piss off. Come on, Derek. Let's go check on the pack." 

Derek didn't argue, just tightened his grip on Stiles' hand and let him lead them over to where Scott, Kira, Erica, Boyd, Malia, and Parrish were standing by the remaining vans. Peter wasn't back yet. Lydia must have gone to the hospital with Alli and Isaac for moral support. Boyd handed Derek a pair of sweatpants. Someone had found a stash of clothing in one of the vans. Stiles had forgotten he was naked again. That was twice in a row. It had to be some sort of crime against nature. This day was really throwing him off kilter.

Scott pulled him away from Derek to wrap his arms around Stiles and bury his face in his shoulder. Stiles hugged him back, hard and desperate and relieved. Scott was himself again. He hadn't lost him. He'd been so afraid that he would get here to find him dead, and then when he had found him, it was so much worse because Scott was trying to kill him. But he'd listened to him in the end. He'd remembered who he was and who Stiles was, and everything was going to be okay.

"Melissa and my dad are dating," Stiles said. He wasn't sure where that had come from, but it had just come out.

"Oh, my god, that's awesome," Scott said against his shoulder, "We could be brothers, literally. Dude, they have to get married."

"Right? That would be the best ever. But I don't think they're ready to admit to anything yet. Dad's still pretending they just have dinner together as friends. It's totally lame. But he's not wearing his wedding ring anymore, so he's going to have to own up to it sooner or later."

"Dude, this is so awesome." Scott stepped back to grin his huge puppy-dog grin at Stiles. "Do you think we'll move into your house or the other way around?"

"I don't know. Ours is bigger, but yours has Mountain Ash, so maybe yours."

"Hey, I know you two want to plan your future together," Erica said, "but we have school tomorrow, and I have a history test that I need to pass or I'm going to be grounded. So, have this conversation in the car or something."

From the look on Kira's face, Stiles was pretty sure she wanted the car ride to talk to Scott about their future together. He tried to relay this to Scott via their telepathic connection, and for once, Scott picked up on it almost instantly, glancing at Kira. Score one for Stiles' mind powers.

"We'll have a bro night," Scott said to him, "just the two of us at my house with pizza and games, and we'll figure out how to get them to stop fighting the inevitable."

"Totally."

"So, who's getting stuck driving?" Boyd asked, "I can't. I've got a messed up foot." 

Oh, like that wasn't going to be back to normal in five minutes. Shit, Stiles was going to end up driving, wasn't he? He hadn't been fighting just minutes ago, he wasn't injured, and he had his license unlike Malia, Kira, and Liam.

"I'm good to drive again," Parrish said, because he was a saint, "I'd like to, actually. It'd calm me down."

Well, that was one van accounted for. And people were looking at Stiles now. They didn't really need to bring all the vans back, right? They could leave one here and all squish in the other one together.

"Stiles is riding in the back with me," Derek said, "and anyone who doesn't want to hear or smell what I'm about to do to him should ride in another car. Peter will drive our van."

Mmm. Sex sounded like a really good idea right now. Hot and slow, maybe with not quite enough prep so Stiles would really feel it. Derek could suck on his neck and that spot under his jaw that made his dick jump. Mmm. Stiles had an excuse to have some marks and bruises, okay? They'd just been in a fight, and he'd been manhandled for a second or two, the duration and violence of which he could exaggerate when he told Dad about it. It was totally reasonable. They should take advantage this. He kind of missed the visible hickeys.

"I'm not driving your sex mobile if I don't have someone to talk to," Peter said, materializing as if from thin air, "and you two don't historically get extra chatty with people who aren't involved in your immediate activities when you start screwing."

"I'll ride with you," Malia said, "Sex doesn't bother me. Can I watch?"

Stiles and Derek said no at the same time Peter said yes. Malia rolled her eyes and hopped into the passenger seat of one of the vans. 

The sex would have been more comfortable if there was anything in the van other than the hard floor and barely padded benches, but Stiles was not complaining. Derek was on the same page as him, and the first round had Stiles riding him slowly after barely slicking Derek's dick and just one finger in his ass. It was tight, and it burned until Stiles got used to it, but it was exactly what he wanted. 

Derek chose the bumpiest part of the drive to knot him. On purpose, he was sure, even if he insisted it was an accident. Stiles actually screamed and blacked out from the combination of the knot on his prostate, the vibrations, and the random jostling. He came to several seconds later to the sound of Peter cursing and slamming the door. They were stopped, and Derek was laughing silently into his back and petting his sides.

"What's with Peter?" Stiles slurred.

"He's probably jerking off," Malia said, "He's been hard since like the second time you came. I think it's the smell and maybe how high your voice gets when you're close to coming. Makes his heart rate jump. He says he's not jerking off, he just needs five minutes without hearing you moan and squeal like a bitch in heat."

"He's picking up on my emotions," Derek said, "since he's my beta and we're related. And I'm currently very, very turned on. I'd feel worse except that he loves making the rest of us uncomfortable every chance he gets. And also, there was that time he talked about your thighs in the grocery store and told Chris Argent that we were fucking." 

"Okay, yeah, some payback was in order for that," Stiles said, "but dude, this knot had better go back down before we drive again, because I don't think I'll survive the rest of this washboard road with it inside me."

"I'm still coming," Derek said, "just give it a minute or two."

"How are you this coherent when you come?" Stiles asked, "It's not fair. Am I doing this wrong?"

"Believe me, you're doing it exactly right. I'm putting a lot of effort into forming sentences right now."

"Do you come the entire time you're knotted?" Malia asked.

"Oh my god," Stiles muttered. He hid his face in his hands. What was with these vans and people thinking it was okay to ask questions like that when they were in one?

"Not when it's growing or shrinking," Derek said.

"Dude," Stiles hissed, "Do not have this discussion right now, or I swear to god, we're not going to have sex again until I'm eighteen for real."

Malia huffed. "Humans are so weird and uptight."

"Hey, I don't care if you want to talk about it," Stiles said, "Have the fucking werewolf version of the birds and bees talk for all I care. In fact, I think it should be mandatory education for all werewolf pack members and any of the rest of them who are going to bang a werewolf. Just don't--"

Derek shifted his weight, and Stiles made an undignified whimpering sound at the change in pressure on his prostate. Holy shit, that felt amazing. His dick twitched, trying to indicate its approval, but it was too worn out to really do anything. They were going to take a break after this and let it recuperate.

"Can I use that trick to get him to shut up?" Malia asked.

"No," Derek said. Stiles would agree, but his mouth wasn't cooperating at the moment.

"Does Scott?"

"No," Derek said, this time with a growl.

"You can't blame me for wondering," she said, "One time they showered together and then cuddled and spooned while they slept, and you don't mind Scott marking him."

"Hey, we all doubled in the shower that night," Stiles said, finally getting his voice under control, "Otherwise there wouldn't have been enough hot water."

"Yeah, but the everyone else who was there spooned with the person they were banging or didn't spoon at all. Scott passed up on Kira to cuddle you, and Kira is his girlfriend. That's highly suspect."

"No, it's not," Derek said, "and it's one thing to mark your best friend and packmate. It's another to have sex with someone else's boyfriend."

"It doesn't have to be full-blown sex," Malia said, "Maybe Scott just fingers him a little. I would do that."

"Scott is not interested in sticking any part of himself in my ass," Stiles said, "Showering and sleepy-time cuddles can be completely platonic. I feel like that's well-established by this point."

"I'm just saying that I'd feel a little more threatened if I were Derek."

"Derek has no reason to feel threatened. Scott is my brother, my best friend, but I have no interest in him in a sexy way or a romantic way, nor does he, in me."

"Good use of the word nor," Derek said.

"Thanks. I try to sneak one in here and there when I don't think it'll be too obtrusive. It's an underused word."

"I can think of a lot of underused words I'd like to use right now," Peter said, climbing back into the van and glaring at Derek.

"Feeling better?" Malia asked.

"Derek, if you make him scream like that again while I'm driving, I'm going to come back there and fuck him myself," Peter said.

Derek growled.

"He's already agreed not to knot me when we're on the gravel roads anymore," Stiles said, "So, chill."

"I never said that," Derek argued.

"Yes, you did, because you want to continue getting into my pants before the father-approved date. I am not banging Peter, Derek. He's hot and everything, but I am super not down with that. Also, I've said it before, and I'll say it again. The one and only person I'd ever consider leaving you for is Lydia, and even she's a distant second at this point. Like you're across the finish line having victory sex with me, and she's a full lap behind, and everyone else is still in the first lap still."

"Stiles, stop trying to use sports metaphors before I drive this van off a cliff," Peter said, "and stop saying lap. It's disturbing."

Drama queen. Stiles was snuggling into Derek's chest for a recovery nap, though, so he could find time to comment on that later.


	35. Stiles

They stopped twice more on the way home for gas and then for food. The only thing that was open at that hour was McDonalds, and they got a lot of funny looks from the workers when they ordered enough food to feed a small army and crammed themselves into a corner booth that was meant for maybe six people instead of ten. There were other booths and tables open, but apparently sitting on top of one another in the car wasn't enough, and they all wanted to be touching a minimum of four people at once. Deputy Parrish sat on a chair at the open end of the table and ate like a civilized human being while the rest of them fought over who got which burger or sandwich and whose fries were whose. Derek just kept buying more burgers until everyone said they were full, and then he bought salads and insisted they eat them. Peter whined about the poor quality of fast food and something about gutter palettes and then ate like five big macs and four large fries all on his own. Stiles used the outlet to recharge their phones.

On the last leg of the ride, they rearranged who was in which van, and Stiles ended up in the one Derek was driving with Erica, Boyd, and Kira helping Erica prep for her History test because there was no way in hell they were getting back to Beacon Hills in time for her to study. They would be lucky if they got there before school started. Stiles had already texted his dad that were getting dropped off directly at the high school instead of coming home first. Some of them, actually no, all of them were spattered in blood and coated in dust and grime despite wiping down a little in the restrooms at the gas station and the McDonalds, and the hoodies they'd bought at the gas station could only cover so much. Finding clean clothes was going to be a priority when they got home, and they might have to be late to first period in order to change. That was okay. Erica's History class was third period.

They pulled up outside the High School an hour and fifteen minutes before school started, and everyone piled out and into the locker rooms for showers. No one asked why Stiles had a key to the girls' locker room. No one even batted an eyelash. It wasn't for creepy reasons, okay? He had it for times like this so he could let the girls in so they didn't have to use the boys' locker room since it was probably a million times nastier than theirs. Derek came back twenty minutes later with two duffle bags of clothes, one for the girls and one for the boys, Isaac's hair gel, a blow-drier, a curling iron, a bottle of hairspray, toothpaste, toothbrushes, and Erica's emergency make-up bag. There was a closet in the loft with an assortment of clothing everyone kept there for impromptu sleepovers, accidental wolf-outs, and post-disaster clean-ups. From the looks of it, Derek had emptied the entire contents of that closet into the two bags and raided the bathroom for everything else. He'd apparently come in the toyota because he gave Boyd the keys before he left. 

He took Stiles' key ring on his way back out the door, and called him ten minutes before the first bell to say that he was outside with their backpacks. They'd all left their backpacks at Alli's house when they went to get the vans and go find Scott. He must have used Stiles' keys and the security codes, which Stiles had totally not given him if Argent asked, to get them. It was a good thing he'd thought of it, because no one else had until about five minutes before he'd called. They had no pens or notebooks or textbooks or even partially completed homework assignments to turn in for half-credit. Nothing except what they could scrounge out of their lockers, which amounted to an old, dried-out eyeliner pencil and a calculator with a busted five button. They needed their backpacks. Stiles may have taken advantage of the chaos and the crowd of bodies trying to get into Roscoe to lean through the driver's window and make out with Derek. It was so sexy when he was responsible and took care of them like a fucking boss alpha. Stiles was pretty sure he'd even made a trip by the front office to tell them Isaac would be out sick today. God, just thinking about it made him want to peel Derek's clothes off and do filthy, filthy things to him. Derek reached out the window to palm Stiles' ass through his jeans, which made his balls tighten and his already abused asshole tingle in anticipation, until Scott cleared his throat loudly and reminded them that there were security cameras in the parking lot now. 

Stiles' second wind kicked in between first and second period and lasted him all through school and Lacrosse practice, but he was crashing by the time he'd dropped Scott and Malia off at their houses and was heading home. The latest update from Lydia said Argent was stable, in a reasonably good mood, and being transferred to Beacon Memorial, and they should all be home by tomorrow, so he didn't have to worry about that anymore. Not that he was going to stop completely until he saw them all in person and had a chance to talk to Alli and see how she was doing, but yeah. He could tick it off on his list of things that were still problems. It was his turn to cook dinner, but he just stumbled through the door and sacked out on the couch. Nap first, cook later. He could always make breakfast for dinner. That never took a long time. Also, bacon. Turkey bacon, but still bacon.

He woke up to Dad standing over him with an exasperated, slightly accusatory expression on his face.

"Nice hickeys," Dad said. 

Stiles looked down to see that this shirt had ridden up and the evidence of his and Derek's car ride activities was fully on display. Crap. 

"We found Scott and saved him from Kate," Stiles said, "and there may have been some victory sex on the way home."

Shit. What the shit, brain? That was not what you were supposed to say here. There was a plan and a viable lie all lined up and ready for use. Now was not the time to go off script.

"In our defense, though," Stiles forged on before Dad could say anything, "it was also thank god you're not dead sex because Derek got stabbed like right in the heart and he was bleeding everywhere and he kept saying to go help Scott and I couldn't figure out if I should stay with him because there was no way he was surviving that without his wolfy powers or if I should go find Scott before Kate killed him too, and in the end I went after Scott because I couldn't stand there and watch Derek die and not be able to save him and Kate turned Scott into a berserker and he was trying to kill us and he stabbed Kira in the stomach with a giant claw thing and she almost died too before she figured out how kitsunes heal themselves and then I used Mountain Ash and tried to pull the bear skull off Scott's face only I couldn't and he was going to kill me but I didn't care because Derek was already dead and Scott was probably gone as far as I could tell and even though he's tried to kill me before, this time I didn't think he'd care when he realized what he'd done and then he broke the skull into pieces and attacked Kate and the other berserkers and we went back out of the cave and there were dead people all over the place and I couldn't find Derek and then I found Argent and he was bleeding to death too and there wasn't a first-aid kit so I had to use my hoodie as bandages and then he told me to take his gun with the yellow wolfsbane bullets and go shoot Kate only I couldn't because I couldn't murder someone and then look you in the eye when I came home so he said have Peter do it and I thought okay because Peter always kills people when I tell him to and then Derek was suddenly a huge black wolf and he attacked Kate and then turned back into himself and was an alpha again and then Peter shot Kate and the pack killed all the berserkers and Alli told her grandma to fuck off and then she and Isaac and Lydia took her dad to the hospital and the rest of us came home and Derek and I had sex in the van and we ate so much McDonalds that I couldn't even look at food when it was lunchtime and Erica said she thought she passed her history test and then I came home and fell asleep instead of cooking dinner."

"Hey, hey, hey. Take a deep breath, Stiles. Don't work yourself into a panic attack. Deep breaths. Match my breathing."

Stiles focused on the rise and fall of his dad's chest until his head cleared and he felt calmer.

"Okay," Dad said, "now why don't you explain that again, only slower."

So, he started over at the part where the berserker attacked Derek and Stiles was stuck in the van with Liam, and this time, he couldn't stop himself from having his crying meltdown in the middle of it but it was shorter than he thought it would be, so that was something, and Stiles was actually feeling a lot better when he was done. Not lying to his dad was sort of a relief, even though he and Derek were going to be in a lot of trouble now. Maybe Parrish was onto something. Not that he'd ever say so to the guy's face.

"Scott tried to kill you," was what Dad said when he was done. Okay, we were focusing on that first.

"He tried to kill everyone," Stiles said, "Kate was controlling him."

"And you made a ring of mountain ash that only you could cross and went inside it with him, where none of your friends could help if he attacked you, to try and talk him out of his trance."

"I couldn't think of anything else, and he was eventually going to kill us all anyway. Berserkers don't feel pain or get tired. Werewolves do. And Alli could have crossed the ring. She's human. Or Lydia. Because Mountain Ash apparently does jack against banshees."

"Both of them were outside fighting and too far away to help."

"Well, yeah, but Dad, I didn't have a choice. It was either go in and help him while I had him trapped or find a way to kill him before he killed us, and I wasn't going to lose him and Derek both in one day without trying to save at least one of them, and I can't magically heal mortal wounds." 

"You don't have to defend yourself on this one, Stiles. I mean, it was incredibly dangerous and completely without regard of your own life, and just the thought of you doing it is making me crazy, but that took guts. You put yourself on the line for Scott and for your friends, and I'm damn proud of you for being that brave and that selfless. Now, I'm not thrilled about the sex. We had a deal, and you broke it, but the age of consent in Mexico is something ludicrous like twelve or thirteen. So, as long as all of the sex happened south of the border, and that's what we're going to say for the sake of my sanity, you weren't breaking the law. But I expect the two of you to go right back to being as discreet as you have been since our talk and stay that way until August, you hear me?"

"Yeah."

"Now, let's talk about your disturbing friendship with Peter Hale and what you meant when you said he kills people when you tell him to. And also why Melissa told me he used to call Scott in the middle of the night and Scott would go out and come home with you passed out drunk in the back of your car and bring you up to his bedroom to sleep it off."

This was going to suck.


	36. Dana

Dana had been Charles Ellis' emmissary for fifteen years. She remembered Talia Hale. She'd only met her once, but Alpha Hale had been a strong, confident, graceful woman who didn't need to flaunt her powers for everyone to know she was the Alpha. Talia Hale, the woman, had been kind and gentle and more interested in raising her children than in interpack relations. But she was dead now, and Charles wanted to meet her son, the new Alpha Hale. He'd wanted to come to Beacon Hills when he heard from Laura Hale that she was coming back to check on some strange animal deaths, but Laura had wound up dead before he could contact her, and since then, the place had been in an uproar. There had been the rogue who'd killed Laura rampaging around murdering people until Derek finally killed him and took the Alpha status back. Then no one had heard anything about Hale until Gerard Argent and a kanima showed up at the same time, and there were rumors about an omega refusing to submit or to leave the territory and teaming up with hunters to challenge Hale. Alpha Hale had barely managed to take care of those problems when Deucalion and his abomination of a pack decided that they were interested in collecting a famous name and spent months trying to get Hale to kill his own pack and join them. Hale came out of the encounter with a True Alpha submitting to him and an awakened Nemeton sending waves of magical disturbance across the entire country.

Then there was some business with a Void Kitsune possessing Alpha Hale's mate. Dana had no idea how they managed to expel it without killing his mate, but by all reports, they had. No sooner had that been resolved, but a recently-turned Kate Argent, the sister of Chris Argent, the hunter who'd claimed the Beacon Hills area as his territory, came with several berserkers in tow to kidnap first Hale and then his True Alpha second, Scott McCall, for purposes unknown and drag them down to Mexico. Hale's mate had followed her there with his pack in tow and called the Calaveras for help in rescuing the Alphas and destroying the berserkers. Somehow, Derek Hale had come out the other side with his pack intact and his mother's ability to make a full shift, and Kate Argent and her berserkers were dead.

Dana wasn't sure what to be intrigued by more. The propensity of the Hale Pack to ally itself with hunters. Its ability to collect non-human, non-werewolf members, which at the moment included a banshee, a hellhound, a thunder kitsune, and a were-coyote. Or its ability to hold together and bounce back after a lifetime's worth of trouble crammed into just two years. Things had been quiet in Beacon Hills since the Hale Pack returned from Mexico in April, two months ago. Charles said that if he waited longer to make sure things were stable, he'd never get to meet Derek Hale before he got killed, and so here Dana was, parking outside a mid-sized suburban house in Beacon Hills, getting ready to talk to the new Hale emissary. 

Deucalion hadn't told them anything about the emissary other than his name and home address. Stiles Stilinski, 129 Woodbine St, Beacon Hills. Dana wasn't sure what kind of person she was going to be face-to-face with or why Alpha Hale had chosen him instead of Alan Deaton. Deaton had been Talia's emissary, and he was well-known and well-respected, but Deucalion said that Deaton was Scott McCall's emissary and Derek had chosen Stilinski instead, whom no one had ever heard of. Stiles Stilinski. Who had a name like Stiles?

"This place smells like Mountain Ash, Alpha, and semen," Charles muttered.

Semen? That was awkward.

"Well, at least it doesn't smell like human sacrifices," she said, "Remember Colorado?"

"Don't remind me of Colorado."

Dana and Charles got out of the car, leaving Myles to keep an eye on their gift for Alpha Hale. They walked past a decrepit blue jeep and a squad car that said County Sheriff. She wondered if Hale had managed to bag the Sheriff as his emissary. That would be a good idea. Very clever. It might even be the reason he'd chosen Stilinski over Deaton. There was a line of Mountain Ash at the base of the house, but she couldn't feel anything, so it must not be closed. Just ready in case it needed to be in a hurry. Dana supposed she'd be just as paranoid if she'd had such a hellacious two years. She rang the bell.

"Two people inside," Charles said, "Just finished dinner, I think."

It was late for dinner, but that was good. Neither party would have to offer the other a meal, and they weren't interrupting. Dana heard a latch click over and the door opened on a middle-aged man with light brown hair and a careworn face, still in his Sheriff's uniform.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

"Stiles Stilinski?" Dana asked.

The man's eyes narrowed slightly, although the rest of his expression didn't change. He glanced behind her at Charles, who she hoped was doing his best to look harmless and respectful.

"No, I'm Sheriff Stilinski, his father. Can I ask what you want with him at this hour? And who are you?"

His father. This was his father. How much did he know about his son's activities? 

"My name is Dana Thompson, and this is Charles Ellis, we need to speak with Stiles about Derek Hale."

"Someone say something about Derek?" a young male voice said from behind the sheriff, "Dad? Who is it?"

The sheriff turned to look at the person behind him, and Dana saw a tall boy with enormous amber eyes, an upturned nose, and freckles, in a hoodie and a t-shirt that said I'm with stupid and had an arrow pointed at his crotch, chewing on a Red Vine and eying them curiously. He couldn't have been out of high school yet.

"Jesus Christ," Charles hissed. She resisted the urge to elbow him, but she couldn't help but agree. This was Derek Hale's emissary?

"Hey," the kid said, stepping around his father, "What's up? Who're you?"

"Are you Stiles Stilinski?" Dana asked, really hoping that the answer was no and this was the sheriff's younger son.

"The one and only," the boy said, "Well, actually, that's not completely true, but one doesn't count because its dead now and the other one's the world's most giant asshole, so he doesn't count either. Who are you?"

"Dana Thompson," she said, "I'd like to talk to you about Derek."

"You'd better not be another fucking Alpha Pack." Stiles' gaze had hardened and now flicked back and forth between her and Charles. Like father like son. And clearly, the father knew about werewolves, so that was a plus. She could speak freely.

"This is Charles Ellis, the Alpha of the Ellis Pack. We share your southern border. I'm his emissary. We were told that you were Alpha Hale's emissary."

Stiles blinked. "Right." 

He didn't sound too convincing, but Charles didn't signal that he was lying, and she didn't see any sort of tic in his face or body language that said so either.

"No one told us you were also his mate," Charles said. The boy blushed a little and his father glared at him and them, clearly not pleased with the situation. But neither of them denied it. This was Alpha Hale's mate? Fuck, that complicated things. 

"Should we be addressing you as the Alpha's mate or his emissary?" Dana asked.

Stiles shrugged. "You came to see his emissary, so I guess that one. I don't know, dude. I'm new at this."

"How new?" Charles asked before Dana could say something less stupid.

The kid grinned impishly and took another bite of his candy. "It's a pretty recent development."

She wondered for a split second if the boy had known he was Hale's emissary at all before she said something, but that was insane. He had to know. Right? Charles didn't give her any sign that he'd detected a lie, but he didn't seem reassured.

"We have a proposal we'd like to present your Alpha," Dana said, "but we aren't sure how it would be received. We'd like to discuss it with you and hear whether you think he might be open to it, and if so, we'd like to meet with him."

"I go on shift in fifteen minutes, Stiles," Sheriff Stilinski said, "and you're not going to be alone in this house with a strange magic lady and her alpha werewolf."

"Yeah, I don't think we should do this here either," Stiles said, "It's a pack house. We should do this on neutral ground. We can go to the animal clinic. Deaton won't mind, and he's got Mountain Ash all over that place."

"You'd still be alone with them," Sheriff Stilinski said.

"I'll call Peter," Stiles said, "He'll look after me."

"God, it's so creepy when you say things like that," his dad muttered, "You expect me to trust Peter Hale now?"

"He's a giant bag of dicks, but he's serious about pack, Dad, and I'm Derek's mate. He won't let anything bad happen to me."

"Fine. Call Peter, but don't stay out too late. I don't want to get a call about you driving around after curfew."

"Oh, yeah, totally," Stiles said in the most unconvincing tone she'd ever heard, "I packed you a snack for work. You know, so you don't have to buy those horrible, heart-attack inducing doughnuts."

"It's carrots sticks again, isn't it?" Sheriff Stilinski asked with a groan, "Why do you hate me?"

Stiles patted his arm. "It's not carrot sticks. It's ants on a log."

"I'm not four, Stiles."

"Hey, everybody loves ants on a log. They're whimsical. You could use some whimsy in between all the bad things you see on duty." 

The kid grinned in triumph as his dad stomped into the kitchen and came back with a brown paper lunch bag. He didn't stop grinning when the man swatted the back of his head lightly on his way out the door. Sheriff Stilinski glared at Dana and Charles again as he got into his squad car and then drove away. They turned back to see Stiles watching them and texting without looking.

"Just sending your pictures and supposed names to Alli in case I wind up dead in a ditch or go missing," Stiles said, "She's a hunter. She'll know what to do."

"We're not here to hurt anyone," Charles said.

"Well, that's the first time I've heard a strange alpha say that," Stiles said, "and it's very nice, reassuring and all that shit, but for all I know, you're trying to lull me into a false sense of security. You did ring the doorbell, though, so that's a point in your favor. The last strange alphas who came to town preferred swastika graffiti, property damage, and kidnapping. Just so you know, if any of you start teaching or working at the high school in any capacity, I'm just going to kill you on principle before you turn out to be mass murderers or psychopaths or Deaton's other creepy-ass sister. I'm all for preemptive measures at this point. Ha! Principle."

"What?" Dana asked.

"I said if you worked at the school, I'd kill you on principle. It was a totally accidental pun. Principle, principal. It's not funny if I have to explain it. Or maybe it's just not funny. Was it super lame? I'm going to text Scott and ask. Wait, he's a bad judge of that, and one person is hardly a poll. I should ask everyone." Stiles pulled out his phone and started texting, fixing Dana with an earnest stare. "On a scale of one to five, one being knock-knock and five being Daniel Tosh, how would you rate that joke on general funniness, originality, and delivery? You're next, Mr. Charles, so start thinking of your answers now."

"Um-" was all Dana got out before Stiles' phone went off and he crowed loudly.

"Never mind. Lydia gave it a solid C-. That's like an A by anyone else's standards. I wonder if she'd have liked it more if I sent it to her in Latin. It's a theory I'm working on. That she automatically likes things more if they're in Latin. I wonder if there's a good font for Latin on cell phones. I'll bet they make you pay out the ass for that shit. Ha. I'm sending her that one in Latin. She won't think it's funny, but I don't care. I've been waiting for an opportunity to send her a shit joke since I learned to conjugate the verb." 

Did he ever stop talking?

"Wait, what was I doing? What were we doing? We were talking about Derek. Oh, I was gonna call Peter."

Dana glanced back at Charles who was staring at Stiles with a dazed expression on his face. Dazed and a little dismayed. This kid was all over the place. How were they going to get him to take them seriously? How were they going to take him seriously?

"Hey, Peter, you in the middle of something? Oh, shut up. No, you aren't. You're sitting at home criticizing whatever hipster German film they showed at Sundance this year and clipping your toenails. I only asked because its technically polite. I need you to come pick me up and bring me to the animal clinic, and then I need you to stick around and supervise me while I talk to Alpha Ellis and his emissary. I don't know, but I need you to make sure I don't accidentally start world war three or cede half our territory or promise anyone's hand or paw in marriage or something. Well, I don't know how this shit works, idiot, and they asked specifically to run it by me first before they talked to Derek, and you're the only one other than him who knows more than I do about this crap. No, it wasn't framed as an actual question. It was framed as a request. They requested to run it by me first. Who cares? You know what? I don't think those kinds of semantics actually mean anything. You're just trying to screw with my head. Just get over here and help me. No, we can't meet there. I need you to drive because I don't know how long this is going to take and Dad said that if I was out driving past curfew even once in the next two weeks, he was taking Roscoe to the junkyard and having him scrapped, and I need my baby. I'm nothing without my jeep. You know this. I know this. The whole world knows this. He's still mad about the Kappa even though I did not drown, thank you. I'll make you Babka, and I won't even make you share it with Isaac. Okay, wear pants, because I know you're in your boxers right now, and that's not something they need to see."

Stiles tucked his phone in his pocket with another grin.

"Peter Hale?" Charles asked, "That's Alpha Hale's uncle, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Stiles said, "He's First Beta."

"How long have you been an emissary?" Dana asked, because the more she heard him talk, the more she was convinced he hadn't known that he was one before they'd rung his doorbell.

"Not long," he said, "and this is my first time dealing with friendly-ish werewolves. So, yeah. Peter."

At least, this kid knew when he was in over his head and was willing to call for help. That was a good sign.

While they waited for Peter Hale to arrive, Stiles Stilinski talked. He talked about Kappas. He talked about the constellation Capricorn. He talked about the Tropic of Capricorn. He talked about the Tropic of Cancer. He talked about cancer. He talked about radiation versus chemotherapy as treatments for cancer. He talked about radiation sickness and how to avoid it after a nuclear disaster. He talked about Chernobyl. He talked about making cherry bombs with Scott McCall when they were ten. He talked about cherry tomatoes and the fact the Derek Hale apparently liked them and Stiles did not. He talked about hydroponic gardening. It was like he never ran out of things to say. 

Dana and Charles said maybe ten words collectively throughout the entire monologue. Then Peter Hale arrived in his fancy car, and Stiles was right back to business, telling them they could follow him to the animal clinic or GPS it if they preferred as he climbed clumsily into the passenger seat. Peter waited until she and Charles were back in their own car before he started driving. Dana followed.

"Jesus Christ," Charles said as soon as he was sure Peter wouldn't be able to hear him, "Derek Hale must have the patience of a saint."

"Tell me that fourteen-year-old isn't Hale's emissary," Myles said from the back.

"Emissary and mate," Dana said, "although, he's got to be at least sixteen if he can drive."

"His dad is making him take a babysitter to this meeting," Charles said sourly.

"No, his dad is making him take a bodyguard," she corrected, "Stiles chose a bodyguard who could also act as an advisor for him. It was a smart move, especially for a rookie. Just because he looks young and never shuts up, that doesn't mean he's an idiot. I don't think you should underestimate him. Deucalion seemed to take him seriously, and he does not mess around."

"He's got a tiny pixy nose and freckles, and he absolutely reeks of Derek Hale and sex. He must not leave that kid alone for longer than twelve hours at a time," Charles said, "He does smell strongly of the other Alpha too, though, which is odd."

"You don't think they're sharing him, do you?" Dana asked. Stiles didn't look sturdy enough to handle two alphas at once.

Charles snorted. "Not with a claim that fresh. It can't be more than a few months old."

There was no way an alpha would share its mate so soon after claiming them. But Charles said the other alpha's scent was on him. So, Hale had to be letting McCall mark the kid. Or maybe he wasn't letting him.

"Is he challenging?" she asked, "The other alpha, I mean. Is he challenging Hale for his mate?"

"It didn't smell like it. He was just marked. The rest of the pack's scents were on him too, but those were the strongest."

Huh. That was strange. But that didn't necessarily mean it was going to be problematic. Alpha Hale and Alpha McCall had figured out how to be pack together. Maybe, they'd figured this out too.


	37. Dana

There was a Mountain Ash ring around the animal clinic when they arrived. She could feel it from inside the car. Powerful. Deaton was not someone to take lightly. Maybe, his door wasn't as open as Stiles seemed to think it was. She and Charles got out of the car still, because Peter and Stiles were doing so, and they didn't seem at all concerned, even though Peter had to be sensing the ring. Stiles was fishing through his keys.

"I'm surprised you haven't color-coded them yet," Peter said.

"People would ask questions," Stiles said, "a bunch of keys is odd but not interesting. A bunch of keys, each with a different color scheme, will make them wonder what the colors mean, and that leads to questions. Better a bunch of boring keys. Got it."

And then he waved his hand and a section of the Mountain Ash opened and the barrier was gone.

"Deaton has you make his ash rings?" Dana asked. Maybe Deaton was training the kid. That would make sense. Stiles gave her an absolutely incredulous look that said 'what kind of an idiot are you?'.

"Of course not," he scoffed. 

Dana's mind was not accepting this information. Stiles said he hadn't made that ash ring, but it had obeyed him when he'd tried to remove it. That was impossible. Dana knew it was impossible. She'd tried it. Every emissary she knew had tried it. None of them had succeeded. Who was this kid? Who might not even be the right question. What was he might be the right question.

"How did you do that?" Dana asked.

"Do what?" Stiles asked, unlocking the door.

"Break the ring without touching it," she said.

"Oh, that? That's no big deal. Those two wouldn't have been able to come in if I hadn't."

"I get why you did it," she said, "I'm wondering how."

"I believed it would work," Stiles said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Yes, but so did Alan Deaton when he made the ring."

"Well, then I guess I believed it more. Dude, it's not that big a deal. I'll just put it back when we leave."

He really didn't get it. Peter Hale did, though. His cheek was twitching like he was trying not to laugh. Derek Hale would understand too. Looked like there was a reason he'd chosen Stiles as his emissary. She and Charles followed Stiles and Peter into the clinic. Stiles flipped on lights as they went in and then hopped over the desk to unlatch the little door and let them into the back room. He offered them chairs, but didn't sit himself, and he radiated so much frenetic energy that neither Dana nor Charles sat either. Peter leaned against the counter on the far side of the room looking like he was about to be vastly amused, probably at her expense. It was an annoying expression on his ridiculously handsome face. 

It didn't take long to find out why. Stiles listened to everything they had to say, interrupting only to either finish their sentences from time to time or to ask clarifying questions. But he didn't stop moving the entire time. At first, he stood still, but his fingers tapped on his leg or the exam table. Then he fiddled with the zipper on his hoodie, the pockets of his jeans, pulled on a loose thread until it was almost two feet long before he finally snapped it off, twirled his keys, flicked through them one by one. After that, he started pulling open drawers and peering inside while chewing vigorously on the sleeve of his sweater. He took things out of drawers, examined them, disassembled and reassembled them, put them back, reorganized them two different ways, and moved on to the next drawer. He was always listening, always aware of the conversation, but he was doing six other things at once.

She noticed Charles was starting to lose patience with it at the same time Peter Hale left his corner to join them at the exam table. And then Hale began to herd Stiles away from the drawers slowly, casually, just by moving into the boy's personal space. He got him trapped between them, the exam table, and himself, and then began putting things in front of him when Stiles wasn't looking. A jar of cotton balls, from which Stiles dumped a handful and began pulling them apart and twisting them into cords, which he tested the strength of by yanking until they came apart and then tried again. As soon as he'd made one he couldn't separate, Peter replaced the jar with tongue depressors. Stiles stacked them, restacked them, made them into teepees, arranged them in a rectangle by height and thickness, snapped two in half, gave himself a sliver, whined until Peter removed it, put the depressors back, and then moved on to the box of rubber gloves Peter had slid onto the table next to his other elbow. Peter kept him occupied, inching closer and closer while Stiles was too busy to notice, until he could get a hand on the kid's upper back. Stiles melted into the touch and most of his frantic energy dissipated. 

Maybe, there were more than two reasons Stiles had called on Peter specifically. More than three, actually. No, four, Stiles had listed four reasons already. Peter could be a bodyguard and an advisor. He was an adult in case Stiles was out after curfew, and he was a high-ranking member of the pack. Four layers of reasoning was pretty damned impressive on its own. And now apparently this. Whatever this was. Peter knew how to manage whatever was going on with Stiles. Stiles didn't even seem to have noticed him doing it. Dana glanced at Charles, who was watching the interaction with interest. He wasn't getting mad anymore. That was good.

Peter slid a jar of Mountain Ash onto the table in front of Stiles, and the kid poured some into his hand and tossed it onto the table without looking down. A perfect circle about six inches wide. She could feel the power off it, not as strong as Deaton's, but still impressive. Especially since Stiles wasn't focused on it. Then Stiles twirled his hand, and the ash flooded back into his palm somehow. Dana had never seen someone do that. It was amazing. And then he dropped it again. This time in a line from one end of the table to the other, as powerful as the circle. Another spin of his wrist, and he had the ash in his hand. He kept doing it, over and over, like a reflex. Circle, line, circle, line, big circle, small circle, two circles side by side, parallel lines, crossed lines, two concentric circles. And then he'd start over. He didn't even have to think about it. It was scary as fuck. 

Next to her, Charles was keeping his poker face on, intimidated but not about to show it. Peter Hale looked pleased. Stiles was oblivious. 

"Okay," Stiles said when they were done explaining, letting go of the Mountain Ash and making it funnel itself back into the jar, "Okay, I think this is worth pitching to Derek. At the very worst, he might say he'd rather wait until his pack didn't consist almost entirely of teenagers who've known about this shit for less than two years. Actually, that's probably what he's going to say."

"At the rate things are going in this town, none of you will be alive by the time you're not teenagers anymore," Charles said.

"That's true." Stiles looked at Dana. "You're a druid like Deaton, right? I mean, that's normal, isn't it? For emissaries to be druids. They're not all like me?"

"I am, and it is normal," she said, wondering exactly what he meant by 'they're not all like me'.

"Well, then I'll convince Derek to let you bring your pack and a few others here this year if you can promise me you'll all bring your emissaries and figure out how to make the Nemeton chill the fuck out. Seriously, it's like a toddler that napped for way too long and is now throwing a screaming fit in the middle of the grocery store and all the customers are flocking to watch and judge and make its poor, overworked mother feel even worse about it. Only, our customers all seem to want to kill us, and we're already a poor, overworked mother, a teenage mother who is trying to graduate from high school, and that is not fair at all."

"Have you asked Deaton to help you?" Charles suggested, "He probably knows how."

Stiles' face darkened for a split second and then cleared back up. Something was going on with him and Deaton. Maybe, Deaton hadn't taken kindly to being replaced.

"He hasn't volunteered any information or advice," Stiles said, "and historically, he doesn't get any more forthcoming when I ask."

"Why not?" Dana asked.

"I have reason to believe that he thinks it's in his Alpha's best interest for the Nemeton to continue drawing in more supernatural creatures," Stiles said, "and that he has no intention of intervening."

That... that was incredibly reckless. And not true, she hoped. Deaton should have more sense than that.

"How could that possibly be in anyone's best interest?" she asked, "Something like this won't just attract friendly beings. A lot of the things out there are dangerous and hostile."

"Deaton has his notions," Stiles said, "I happen to disagree with them, and since he won't help me find the Nemeton's fucking sippy cup, I'm ready to field this out to someone who will. As many someones as it takes."

"Does Scott McCall agree with Deaton's notions?" Charles asked. He was thinking about the scents and the marking, Dana could tell.

"No," Stiles said without hesitation.

"Are you certain?" Charles asked, "He scent marks you despite Alpha Hale's claim. It may not smell like he's challenging, but he might be working up to it, laying ground work. Trying to steal your loyalty."

"Scott is not angling for Derek's position," Stiles said, "and of course he scent marks me. He's my best friend. And he doesn't need to steal my loyalty from Derek. He has my loyalty. I love Scotty, and I will always have his back no matter what."

"But you're Derek's mate," Charles pointed out.

"And I love Derek, and I would also always have his back," Stiles said, "You can be loyal to more than one person, dude. It's a thing."

"What would you do if they turned on one another?" Charles asked, "Whose side would you take?"

"They would never ask me to choose." Stiles said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"I can clear this one up," Peter said, "You're thinking about this the wrong way, Alpha Ellis. It's not a matter of Stiles' loyalties or where they lie. Derek and Scott are completely loyal to Stiles. They would never leave him. They would never betray him. And they would never turn on one another because it would hurt him if they did."

If that was true, it put Stiles in an interesting position. It also solved the problem of possible future power grabs and instability. Charles didn't look completely convinced, but she was pretty sure he was willing to consider the possibility that there wasn't a problem brewing until he had evidence that there was.

"You'll understand once you meet Scott and Derek," Peter said.

"Seriously," Stiles said, "Scott is a giant teddy bear full of love and hugs and a boundless desire to help everyone. He's like the best guy ever. The best person ever. And so is his mom. Have you met her? Melissa? She's awesome. Like way more awesome than anyone has a right to be. Ask Peter. He tried to date her once. But then he made her cry. I kind of want to punch him for it still. I punched Jackson once. He was a dick, but now he's dead, and sometimes, I miss him. I miss my mom too. I wouldn't mind having Melissa as a new mom. Melissa is the best. She and Dad are dating. They finally admitted it to us. Lydia, Alli, and Erica are planning their wedding already. Lydia wants her to wear a blush dress and blue flowers in her bouquet. I don't think she will though. The blue flowers, I mean. Not the dress. She might wear a blush dress. She'd look pretty in one. She'd look pretty in anything. But she had blue flowers when she got married to Scott's dad, so I don't think she'll do that again. I haven't told Lydia yet. Lydia is a goddess, a strawberry-blonde goddess who haunted my dreams for years until I met Derek. It's hard to tell her no. She always has like fifty arguments lined up to prove she's right and you're an idiot. But I'm right about the flowers, and I should tell her she has to change them before they pick out matching place mats and shit. Are place mats a thing at weddings? Do you pick that out or do you have to go with whatever the caterer has available? I've never been to a wedding, so I don't know. Is that weird? That I haven't been to a wedding? It seems like it's weird, but I don't have a lot of relatives, and my dad's friends are already married, and my friends are teenagers, so I don't think its my fault."

"Stiles, did you take your Adderol today?" Peter asked. Oh, Stiles had an attention disorder. That explained a lot.

"Yes," Stiles said, "No. Yes. No. No. I was going to, but then Isaac called to ask if I wanted to go see the new Spider-man movie and we were arguing about Mary Jane versus Gwen Stacy and I forgot."

"Do you have them with you?"

"They're on my desk. I took the bottle out of my pocket and didn't put it back. Is it that bad, really?"

"I've seen it worse," Peter said, "but maybe we should wrap this up before you get tired."

Stiles sighed. "Okay. Why don't you guys give me your contact info, and I'll talk to Derek and get back to you about meeting with him?"

"Sure," Dana said, pulling out her business card and handing it to Stiles. 

"And we have a gift for Alpha Hale to show our sincerity and good will," Charles added, "Myles."


	38. Stiles

Stiles was already tired. Peter knew it too, even if he wasn't saying so in front of strangers. He was doing his best to focus, but it was hard, and it had been for the last hour or so. He wasn't sure what the protocol was for accepting gifts from strange Alphas. Did he deliver it to Derek? Accept it on his behalf? Was there something he was supposed to say or do? Was he supposed to give them something back? He didn't have anything to give them. Maybe, he could give Dana his jar of Mountain Ash. She'd been eying it, and she'd asked about the ring outside earlier. Maybe, she couldn't get hold of a lot of it.

Also, who was Myles? Or what was Myles. Or was it Miles? Like miles to go before I sleep. Maybe, Mr. Charles was going to take them on a road trip. Probably not. He could barely stand Stiles' chattering. There was no way he was going to trap himself in a car with it for hours on end. He hadn't been an ass about it yet, though. That was impressive. Most people would have hinted that he should shut the hell up at least once during his diatribe at home or during the wedding thing. But this guy was wearing his big boy pants and keeping control of his temper. That was good.

But what was a Myles, and how did he accept it without insulting these two?

Myles, as it turned out, was one of Charles Ellis' betas. The gift was Gerard fucking Argent. 

"We found him in an abandoned hunter's hideout on our territory a week ago," Charles Ellis said, "He must have escaped from wherever he was being held."

Fuck. Of course the old bastard had gotten loose. Fuck, seeing him reminded Stiles just how much he hated him. Also, way to go, Chris. Way to keep the pack updated when your psychotic genocidal father sprang himself from nursing home hell and went looking for revenge or whatever.

"Hello, Stiles." Gerard gave one of his hideous grins. "I see you've been up to a lot of things since we last met. I'll bet you want to know how I escaped from the gilded cage my son was keeping me in."

"I don't care, actually," Stiles said, "Peter, tear his head off."

Dana and Alpha Ellis balked. Peter stepped past Stiles, grabbed Gerard's head, and tore it clean off his shoulders. Blood sprayed, and Gerard's body dropped to the floor. Peter set the head on the exam table, facing it away from Stiles, thank god, pulled a towel off a stack on the counter, and wiped his face and hands. His shirt was still soaked with blood, and his eyes were glowing bright blue. Peter dropped the towel into the growing pool of blood on the floor. They should do something about that before it hit the corners. There should be a floor drain, right? It seemed like there should. Stiles couldn't see one though. He saw Peter's bloody chest. Then Peter grabbed the back of his head and kissed him. With a lot of tongue. Gross. Stiles shoved at his shoulders until he stepped away.

"Dude, not cool." Stiles wiped spit off his mouth. Eew. Peter's spit. "I mean, at least you didn't draw blood this time, but still. Not cool. Don't bad touch me every time I ask you to kill someone, or I'm gonna have to find someone else to do it."

Peter just smirked. "Use your head, Stiles. What does Derek do when Scott marks you?"

"Nothing. We already talked about this." Stiles wondered if Deaton had toothpaste and mouthwash here that was for humans, not animals. Although, at this point, he'd take either.

"And when Isaac or Allison or the others mark you?" Peter asked. He was going somewhere, but Stiles was still too skeeved out from having his tongue in his mouth to think of where.

"It's no big deal," Stiles said. His mouth tasted like spearmint now, and he hadn't eaten anything spearmint flavored in like three years.

"And what does he do when I mark you?" Peter's tone was getting more condescending by the second.

"He--" Stiles blushed.

"He loses his shit and fucks you through the nearest horizontal surface," Peter said, "Or sometimes a vertical one. There's a reason for that. Do you know what it is? I'll give you a hint since you're suffering from lack of proper medication. We also discussed it today."

"Because you're challenging him," Stiles said. It was really the only explanation.

"It's about intent," Peter said, "I'm not challenging enough to really challenge, but I'm doing it enough that his wolf responds. And how does it respond? By reinforcing its claim on you. Which you very much enjoy. Just like I enjoy it when you give me all the fun jobs. So, I like to reinforce that behavior. You're not the only one who can use conditioning techniques."

Stiles was going to deal with this later when they weren't in front of strangers. Strangers who were the alpha of a neighboring pack of werewolves and his emissary. Who thought Stiles was Derek's emissary. Because he hadn't denied it when they said it and then had perpetuated the misconception with some very misleading statements. For now, they needed to clean this up before the mess got bigger. People had a lot of blood in their bodies, and Gerard's was spreading all over the floor. And it smelled.

"Do you think you could get him in smaller pieces?" Stiles nodded at Gerard's body. "There's a furnace downstairs for cremating dead animals, but I'm pretty sure he's too big to fit. It's for like dogs and cats. I don't know how it works, but I could call Isaac to talk you through it. He probably knows. He used to work here. Actually, I could call Malia too, if you don't want to do the fire thing. I know you don't really like that."

"I can handle it," Peter said, "You want to keep the head? For proof?"

"I don't think we'll need proof," Stiles said, "Derek will take our word for it. You should find something to bring this down in like a tarp or a plastic tub or something so we don't have to clean the entire building."

Peter picked up Gerard's head and tucked it under his arm, humming Happy Days Are Here Again. He smacked Stiles on the ass hard enough to bruise on his way to the basement door. Stiles yelped and flicked him off, but his back was turned so he didn't see it. Dana, Charles Ellis, and Myles the Beta stared after him and then at Stiles. They looked as creeped out as he felt. Nice to know Peter had that affect on everyone, not just him. Peter reemerged half a minute later with a tarp, which he threw across the exam table like a tablecloth. He tossed Gerard's body on top, wrapped it up, slung the bundle over his shoulder, and went back downstairs, still humming. Stiles grabbed a bunch of towels and dropped them on the floor at the edges of the pool of blood to keep it from getting bigger. He was going to have to use the pack credit card to buy replacements, because he had no idea how to get blood out of white towels. 

"Well," Dana said. She wasn't sure where to go from here, he could tell.

"That was gross," Stiles said, "but thanks for not letting Gerard walk free. He's psychotic. Or, he was."

"Were you looking for him?" Dana asked.

"We didn't know he'd escaped. Argent had him in some nursing home. Alli and Scott went to see him there once because he knew Deucalion. So, we knew where he was being kept, but we didn't know he'd gotten out." Stiles threw more towels in the pool of blood and began pushing them around with his toe so that all the blood got soaked up. Gross. He was going to have to throw away these shoes.

"What will you tell Chris Argent?" Dana asked.

"That he can stop looking," Stiles said.

"Will Derek be angry?" she asked.

"That we killed Gerard?" Stiles shot her an incredulous look. "No, dude. If you think Derek would have let him go, you're seriously delusional. Scotty would have let him go, but that's why I don't ask for his opinion before I do shit like this. Gerard was a genocidal sadist. There was no reasoning with him. And he was very good at getting people to follow him and believe his crazy talk. It would be irresponsible to let him live knowing that he was going to get loose and murder innocent people."

"Will Derek be angry with Chris Argent for not dealing with Gerard properly or for failing to contain him?" Dana asked. Oh, that was what she'd been referring to, not the Stiles having Peter kill Gerard thing.

"Maybe," Stiles said, "but it's his dad. I can't fault Argent for not having it in him to kill his own dad, no matter how horrible the guy was, and Derek will forgive him, for my sake and for Alli's, even if he doesn't really want to."

"I have to ask," Charles said, "This Alli you keep referring to, is she by any chance Allison Argent?"

"Yeah," Stiles said.

"The hunter's daughter." 

"She's pack," Stiles said.

"A hunter's daughter who is herself a hunter," Alpha Ellis said like it should mean something to Stiles. Which, yeah, he could understand how someone outside the situation might find it a little flooring that an Alpha would allow a hunter to join his pack, let alone one whose aunt had murdered almost his entire family and who had once tried to kill him and his new pack personally. But Alli was awesome, and Derek was amazing, and they were past that now. And no one ever said anything about it, but Alli was Derek's little princess, and he would bend over backwards to make her happy. It was kind of adorable. 

"Yeah," Stiles said, "There was this thing a while ago when Derek and Peter were bringing Cora back to Brazil where everyone was wearing Derek's shirts, and Alli said being able to smell him on them made her feel better when she was anxious or having a bad day, and Derek said that meant she'd accepted him as her alpha for realskis. But she was pack way before that. That was just when he was officially sure about it."

They were looking at him like he was speaking in another language or something. Stiles finished soaking up the worst of the blood, pulled on a pair of rubber gloves, and started picking the wet towels off the floor and putting them in the trash can. They were going to have to burn these too. If anyone saw them in the dumpster, there's be an investigation for sure. God, Gerard's blood smelled rancid.

"How does Chris Argent feel about his daughter being in a pack of werewolves?" Dana asked.

"He adores Alli," Stiles said, "and he wants her to be safe and happy. The pack wants the same thing. It took some getting used to, I think, but he's dialed back the death glares to like a three-point-five, and that's about the same as jumping up and down and squealing for anyone else. Just a second. Peter, I'm putting a trash can of bloody rags at the top of the stairs. Toss them in the burner, will you?"

Stiles dragged the trash can over by the door, stripped off his bloody gloves, and dropped them on the top. He'd need to be able to use his hands to find the mop and bleach and shit. He was pretty sure he'd seen it in one of the closets once when he'd come to visit Scott at work.

"You certainly feel free to make use of Dr. Deaton's facilities despite your differences," Dana said. Alright, back to Deaton then. Stiles could roll with that.

"I'm sure he'd rather not clean up dried blood and a rotting corpse when he gets back from Bangladesh or wherever he went," Stiles said. 

"Has he been teaching you about being an emissary?" she asked. As if Deaton would teach Stiles jack shit unless it was part of his plan to put Scott on the iron throne.

Stiles snorted. "Yeah, right. I mean, he told me about Mountain Ash and how you have to believe it'll work in order to make it do anything, and once, he submerged me in an ice bath until my heart basically stopped as part of a replacement ritual sacrifice when the Darach was going to murder my dad, but that's about the extent of it. Everything else I learned from Derek, Argent, Peter, or like books and stuff. And when I say everything else, I'm not talking about like mountains of knowledge here. I'm not even talking about mole hills. I'm talking about the dirt that got tracked in on the bottom of someone's shoes."

"So, you aren't training to be a druid, then?" Dana asked.

"No? I'm kind of an ad-libber." Stiles found the closet with the cleaning supplies and started running water in the bucket. "Make it up as I go along. Fly by the seat of my pants. It's worked okay so far."

"Do you have magic in your blood?" she asked.

He poked his head back out to give her a disbelieving look. "What? No. I'm just a regular human." 

Although, now that Stiles thought about it, Deaton had been the one to tell him that, and he wasn't exactly the most reliable source of information. Maybe, he should get a second opinion.

"But the things you do with Mountain Ash are... impossible," Charles Ellis said. 

Stiles poured a liberal amount of bleach into the bucket as it filled with water, then grabbed the mop, rolled it out to the blood stain on the floor, and started scrubbing.

"I'm not magic," he said, "I'm just really, really good at believing things that aren't real until I fool myself and everyone else into thinking they're true." 

He wasn't sure why he was protesting so much, but it kind of felt like magic would be cheating. Like if he was magic and that was the reason why he was so good at theses things, it wouldn't be because he worked so hard. It would take away from what he thought actually made him special, his loyalty and dedication and the way he stuck to it until he made thing work. It was a weird realization, because not that long ago, he'd wished for something that would make him special and supernatural like his friends. But now, he was actively hoping against it. Because he wanted to be special just like he was. He didn't want to need anything extra to make him worth having on their team. He wanted just him to be enough.

"Would you allow me to do a simple test to check?" Dana asked, "It's not dangerous at all. There are no side-effects or anything like that, and it's not invasive or painful in any way."

His automatic reaction was to say no, but if he was magic like she thought, there were probably other things he could be doing to protect the pack, and he wasn't going to let his ego get in the way of that.

"I would need a rundown of the entire process before I agreed to anything," Stiles said, "and I'm not saying yes until after you meet with Derek about your werewolf convention thing and I've had a chance to discuss it and the test idea with him. And if I said yes, the testing would be supervised by at least part of my pack."

"That's reasonable," Dana said, "I promise we're not here to hurt you, though. So you don't need to worry."

Stiles smiled a small, bitter smile at the pinkish water he was smearing all over the floor. "Yeah, I really do."


	39. Stiles

Alpha Ellis and his emissary left sometime between when Stiles had finished cleaning the floor and was going at the surfaces and walls with a rag to get rid of any specks and splatters and when Peter came up from the basement, shirtless, to tell him that the only thing left of Gerard Argent was a bucket of ashes. Stiles had given him his hoodie, because getting pulled over by his dad or one of his deputies when he was alone in a car after curfew with a shirtless Peter Hale and a bucket of ash was not going to look good, especially because Stiles was pretty sure they would somehow know Peter had kissed him earlier, even if they couldn't smell it. And who knew? If it was Parrish who pulled them over, he might be able to. They still weren't sure what all he could do.

The first stop they made was the park along the river where Peter led Stiles through the woods in the dark so he could dump Gerard's ashes in the water without having to use a flashlight. No way in hell was he burying the old fucker somewhere or scattering his ashes to the wind or something. The water would carry it out of Beacon Hills and off to the ocean where it could disburse and they would hopefully never have to worry about him resurrecting himself. It wasn't weird to be stumbling through the woods in the middle of the night, holding onto Peter's arm, and trusting him not to let Stiles step on anything dangerous or fall down a hole or lead him out somewhere and abandon him to get lost while they got rid of evidence of a murder they'd committed in the name of protecting the pack. It wasn't weird. It just felt like another wednesday night. The not-weirdness of it was weird, but Stiles was going to dwell on that later, because now he had to go wake up Chris Argent in the middle of the night to tell him they'd killed his dad.

Peter stayed in the car when they got to the Argents' house, and Stiles didn't even question it. He just texted Argent on the way to his door saying that he was there and needed to talk and didn't want to wake Alli, so could he come to the door? He didn't knock or ring the bell, just waited, and a minute later, the door opened and there was Argent in pajama pants and a ratty t-shirt, looking tired and confused but alert enough to deal with whatever disaster was coming their way. Stiles' stomach suddenly turned and twisted, and he felt like a moron and an ass. He'd just showed up at this guy's house in the middle of the night to tell him his dad was dead. He should have brought something with him like 'I'm sorry' flowers or 'your relative is dead' lasagna or just a bottle of really strong liquor.

"Stiles?" Argent prompted.

"So, umm... I got a visit from a guy named Ellis and his emissary just a little bit ago," Stiles said, feeling the babbling start to flood out, "You know, the werewolves who apparently live to the south of us. Did you know that? I didn't know that. I know it now, though, because they told me. They could have been lying, but Peter didn't say so, so I don't think they were. They said I'm Derek's emissary. I also didn't know that. Did you know that? Peter didn't. They said they talked to Deucalion, and he said I was Derek's new emissary. Can you be someone's emissary without knowing it? Derek never asked or even mentioned anything about it, and I assumed it was still Deaton, but Dana and Charles Ellis said it was me, so I assumed Deaton was like Scott's emissary since he's the only one Deaton ever helps or cares about, and that was what I told them, basically. Not in so many words, but pretty much directly said that, and I'm not even completely sure that's true. And now Dana wants to see if I'm magical, and I don't want to be, but I'm going to let her check and see after Derek agrees to let a few packs of werewolves and their emissaries come here and help us make the Nemeton stop putting out bad mojo and attracting all the evilness in the land to our doorstep to shit all over our lives. Which, by the way, if it happens, will probably be this summer, so be prepared for that. Yeah, umm..."

Argent was staring at him, not exactly angry, but not happy either, like he wasn't sure why Stiles had woken him up in the middle of the night to tell him this instead of waiting until morning. But this wasn't what Stiles had woken him up for. He was just having a hard time saying it. But he was going to nut up and do it now, because Argent needed to know.

"Yeah," Stiles said, scratching the back of his head and coming up with a few flakes of crusty red stuff, probably from when Peter had kissed him, "Yeah, that's not really what I came here to tell you. Uh, so, I know your dad got out of that nursing home you had him in, and I'm sure you were hoping to round him back up before anyone found out, and I get that. I get it. But see, the Ellis pack found him on their territory, and they brought him here to turn him over to Derek as a show of good faith. You know, so he'd know they weren't horning in on his territory or anything like that. And well, um, we... I, not Derek, Derek wasn't there and didn't know anything about it, still doesn't since I haven't told him, so please don't get mad and kill him. Please don't kill me or Peter either, because I totally ordered him to do it but I was just trying to protect the pack and everyone else Gerard was going to try to kill once he'd found himself some sycophants and some wolfsbane, but, umm... he's- Your dad's- you don't have to look for him anymore."

"Stiles, is my father dead?" Argent asked.

"Yes," Stiles said, "and we sort of cremated him and dumped the ashes in the river because I don't want a repeat of Kate. Sorry. There's nothing for you to bury. I didn't even think to check if he had a wallet or personal affects or anything to give you."

Argent sighed. "It's alright. It needed to be done. I knew it. I was just hoping the Mountain Ash would take care of it for me."

"Yeah, man, I get it." Stiles really needed to never call Mr. Argent 'man' again. "He was your dad. And I'm not sorry that he's dead, but I'm sorry that your dad is. If that makes sense."

"It does."

"What are you going to tell Alli?"

"That he's dead and this time, there won't be any chance of him coming back," Argent said, "If she asks for details, I'll make something up and let you know."

"Thanks." Even though Stiles knew Alli hated Gerard, he didn't want her knowing he'd had Peter kill the guy.

"Is there anything else I need to know about?" Argent asked.

"Not yet, but I'll keep you updated on the whole possible flood of werewolf packs coming into town this summer situation."

Argent nodded. "Goodnight, Stiles."

"'Night." 

Stiles tumbled back into Peter's car with a sigh.

"Well, that was slightly less awkward than it could have been," Peter said, "Not that you didn't give it your all, but you can't succeed every time. Where to now, Mr. Wayne? Home or the loft?"

"Did you just make a Batman joke? You got blood in my hair, earlier, by the way, and it's still not as gross as the fact that you kissed me."

"You can still capitalize on that if I take you to the loft."

"Dad would kill me if I didn't go home. I'll text Derek and have him meet me there."

"Not too morally upstanding to take advantage of my little gift, are you?"

"Shut up. If I have to get kissed by you, I deserve a thorough fucking to purge the trauma from my system. Also, I do need to talk to him about Werewolf Con Beacon Hills and the whole emissary thing."

"Which you'll get to sometime tomorrow night, I'll bet. Think he'll let you go to school at all, or do you think he's going to keep you squirming on his knot all day?"

"Dude, stop picturing it. You're way too into this. It's creepy."

"Well, you can blame Derek for leaking his feelings all over the rest of us. You think it's a coincidence that Isaac spends so much time hugging you and fondling your ass or that the betas all take turns sucking on your tongue every time you win a lacrosse game? They may claim it's a good luck charm, but it's just them doing what Derek wants to do twenty-four seven. It's a lucky thing everyone's girlfriends and boyfriends are either suffering the same condition or extremely understanding. Even Scott's affected. Cora called me the other day to complain that she was having sex dreams about you. From Brazil. I'm fighting not to pin you down and fuck you every time you stick something in your mouth, and that's not fun for me because I'm actually straight and attracted to adult women. Just because I occasionally push a few buttons doesn't mean I want to fantasize about the obscene things I could do to your body. Derek needs to get it under control, especially if there are going to be other packs in town."

"I'll talk to him about it, geez. I didn't know it was that bad. I'm not a werewolf."

"You didn't find it at all weird when Boyd started trying to suck your tonsils out?"

"Well, yeah, of course I did, but I thought it was an adrenaline thing. Post-game victory feels. Winning is a form of domination. Logically, that would get the wolves fired up, and once Isaac had done it, the rest of them followed suit, and I figured whatever, they're just venting some of the rush, it'll help them keep it together and not wolf out."

"It's going to be a problem if he doesn't have a lock on it before the other packs arrive. He's got a little time to figure it out, but the sooner the better. He'll need the practice so he can keep it together when there are other wolves in town that could present a challenge to his claim."

"They're not going to, are they? Challenge him?"

"No. It's a summit, a small one, but it counts, and they're guests on his territory. No one would allow it."

"Have you ever been to one of these things?"

"A few. They don't happen often."

"Has Derek?"

"One, when he was maybe seven. There were times when other packs or just their alphas would come through to talk to Talia, but they were never official summits."

"But he knows what he's supposed to do and stuff, right?"

"Partly. I'll talk him through what I know, and he can ask Satomi if he needs to know more. Or Charles Ellis, if he doesn't mind looking young and inexperienced in front of the guy."

"He'd mind. Do you think I could ask the other emissaries to teach me about how to be an emissary without making problems?"

"If you don't mind teaching them how to do what you do with Mountain Ash."

"Is it really that hard? I mean, I figured it out on my own just by experimenting. There have to be other people who can do it too, right?"

"No, Stiles. It's really that hard. Before I saw you do it, I'd have said it was impossible, especially for a regular human."

"You don't think I'm going to be magic?"

"No," Peter said, "I think you're just you."

"I don't want to be magic."

"Just like you don't want to be a werewolf."

Stiles nodded. "Yeah."

"You know, you're not lying about that anymore."

"I know. Were you trying to intimidate Charles Ellis and Dana when you gave me the Mountain Ash?"

"They were questioning Derek's choice to make you his emissary. I could see it in their faces. They weren't taking you as seriously as they should. I just made sure they knew they were wrong."

"Most people don't take me seriously when I'm not on my meds."

"Their mistake, and in this case, it was better to correct it than let it go so we could use it later."

"Will they tell people about it?"

"Probably."

Peter stopped the car outside Stiles' house. The light was on in Stiles' room. Derek was already there.

"Thanks for the ride," Stiles said.

"I think that's what you're supposed to say to Derek," Peter said.

Stiles flicked him off and slammed his car door in retaliation, and Peter peeled out way faster than necessary. Or maybe not since he'd kissed Stiles and left a hand-shaped bruise on his ass tonight. That was disturbing, but damn if Stiles' dick wasn't already filling a little in anticipation of what Derek was going to do when he saw and smelled it. He really was a terrible person.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deaton comes off like a giant asshole in this. I don't have anything against the character, actually. It just ended up that way.

**Author's Note:**

> Deaton comes off as a giant bag of dicks in this. I don't actually dislike the character, for the record. It just came out that way.


End file.
